Sweet Child
by WinterD
Summary: Final story of the Weathered Series. Set after Again. Buffy and Spike go in search for their lost daughter but end up finding more than what they expected.
1. Sense of Snow

Title: Sweet Child

Rated: PG-13

Summary: Final Book in the Weathered Series.  Buffy and Spike go in search of their lost daughter but end up finding more than they expected.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; Joss, UPN, and WB own everything.  Please don't sue me. 

Special Thanks: To my two lovely beta readers, Haley and Karen.  As always, they deserve a big 'thanks' from everyone because they catch my many, many mistakes.  I would also like to thank all of you who review.  I love hearing from you guys, especially those who have been faithfully reviewing since I started this thing.  You guys have just been so great.  

AN: Okay, so this is the last book.  Feels strange to be saying that.  Hopefully, it won't disappoint. Well, guys, enjoy. 

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Part 1: Sense of Snow

The over-crowded train cut through the blizzard like conditions with speed and power, blaring its horn as a warning to anyone foolish enough to try and stand in its way.  It was still surprising how something that was as old as this machine demanded such respect from those around it.  It was powerful, cold and unforgiving to those who didn't respect what it could do; yet had elegance and grace.  It had a track to follow, a straight, cleared path before it.  It wasn't like life, where you never knew who or what was around the corner waiting to stop you on the path.  Too bad life didn't come with a cow catcher in front of it to push the obstacles out of the way.  It would be so much better if it did.

Buffy sat back in her seat, staring out the window as the scenery passed by in a mesh of white, gray and more white.  She hadn't seen this much snow since Prague and it was quickly reminding her why she liked living in southern California.  Sure, snow might be nice to look at in pictures or watch on television, but being in the real stuff for days in and days out could really put a downer on one's spirit.  It boiled down to one reason why she didn't like snow; she missed the sun.

She didn't know how Spike could live his life without it.  Always in the dark, never feeling its warmth on her face, Buffy couldn't do it.  Her time in the snow at least had given her one thing, a great respect for anyone who could live without the sun.

A giggle caught her off guard and Buffy turned quickly towards the sound.  Sitting across from her and a few rows up was a family of four, laughing with one another.  The father had his son on his lap, making faces at the toddler who would reward him with a squeal of delight.  Beside him sat the mother, smiling sweetly at her boys while the daughter sat between her parents to keep warm.  

The girl was maybe five, with long blond hair that was braided on either side of her head, and a large pair of blue eyes that reminded Buffy a little too much of her own child.  The little girl stopped watching her brother and father and turned her attention towards the slayer that was watching them.  She gave Buffy a large, childish smile, which the blonde woman tried to return weakly.  

The little girl's face fell slightly, and she pulled on her mother's sleeve and whispered something in her ear.  Buffy could imagine what it was.  Probably something like 'Mommy, why is that lady so sad?'  The mother would response 'I don't know.'  Buffy had heard it enough on this trip; she knew the conversation by heart, even if she had never participated in it.

It happened every time she saw a happy family, every time she saw a child laughing, every time she saw a little girl with a head full of blonde hair; that sad, longing look would find its way onto her face.  She couldn't help it.  No matter how many times Giles told her that they were close to finding Dylan, no matter how many times Spike held her close and told her he loved her when they failed, that sadness remained in her eyes and would until she had her daughter back.  She didn't come back from the dead just to loose her again.  Even the PTB couldn't be that cruel.  Could they?

But then, why not?  They had been cruel her to since the day she became the slayer, the Chosen One, the protector of the world.  They let her parents get a divorce so she and her mom could move to the Hellmouth because it needed her.  They let her die at the Master's hands.  They let her fall in love for the first time with a souled vampire, only to have him loose that very soul the first and only time they made love.  They made it to where she had to kill him to save the world.  They turned another slayer, the one person in the world who could understand what it's like, against her.  They gave her a sister, only to send a hell god after her.  They kidnapped her, tortured her, killed her and brought her back to life, and why did they do that?  Because she was the slayer, the Chosen One, the protector of the world. 

But she wasn't going to let that happen to Dylan.  Buffy had sworn the day Dylan was born that she would die before she let her daughter know the kind of misery that often came to slayers; the loneliness, the heartache, the hard shell that they had to form around their hearts.  Dylan wasn't supposed to know these, not if she could help it.  But now she was gone, and Buffy couldn't protect her.  It had been three months since that Halloween night; God knows what the child had learned since then.

Buffy felt someone sit down next to her, jarring the slayer out of the world she had slipped into.  Giles had returned to his seat from wherever he had disappeared to earlier, and the older man sighed as he tried to get comfortable again.  She was glad he had come with them this time.  Even if she didn't say it out loud, she needed him, maybe now more than ever.

He glanced over at her and smiled ever so slightly.  "How are you feeling?"

"Disappointed," she said simply, leaning back in her own seat.  "Should've known Moscow was going to be a bust, just like the others."

"There now, it wasn't a complete waste of time.  We at least know she had been there."

Buffy snorted as she thought back to the meeting she and Giles had just attended back in the Russian capital city.

_"Yes, I remember that girl," the club owner said as he went about reading his business for that night.  Though he had a thick accent, he spoke English rather well, something that Buffy was finding herself more and more grateful for.  "Cute kid.  Bit of a smart ass, though."_

_Giles looked as if he were trying to decide whether to speak in Russian or English before he looked over at the slayer at his side.  Knowing that she didn't speak the language, he decided that he would stay with the English that the club owner had set.  "Do you know who she was with?"_

_He shrugged while he wiped down the counter.  "Another kid, a boy, and some old man.  Don't think she particularly cared for either one of them, but it didn't bother them.  I even had a man offering good money for that girl too, but the old man wouldn't sell.  Don't know why.  That one has a wild spirit, I tell you.  Been easier to pass her off to some other fool than try and break her. I would have, anyway."_

It had taken Giles literally pulling her out of the club to keep Buffy from killing the man for suggesting that her daughter should be sold like a piece of property.  Good thing Spike hadn't come with them this day.  The old Watcher might be able to handle strong willed people better than most, but two upset parents with super strength would have been more than even he could handle. Now they were on a train back to St. Petersburg, no closer to finding Dylan than they had been when they left that morning.  

"We don't need to know where she was, Giles.  We need to find out where she is," the blonde slayer pointed out, shifting in her seat to keep from looking at her old friend.  

Giles sighed as he looked at the woman beside him.  There were times, particularly like these, where he couldn't help but wonder why she continued to let him help her.  She blamed him for what happened.  Buffy might not know it, but he could see it in her face when she looked at him.  He let Dylan out of his sight, and now she was gone.  Well, he wasn't going to stop until he found her, even if Buffy didn't want him to be with her in the search.  He was going to make this right, no matter what.

"We will," he assured her before letting the silence come over them again.

**********

He stood on the platform, one hand dug deep into his pocket while the other brought the cigarette up to his lips.  From the large crowd around him waiting, only a few people gave him a dirty look for lighting up in the middle of them, but at least they weren't like those left over hippies who would scream to high heaven if they caught him.  No, these people had bigger things to worry about than second hand smoke that was for sure.

Off in the distance, a train horn blared, announcing that it would be arriving soon.  Taking one more sweet drag off the cigarette, he blew out the smoke slowly before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out with his foot.  He then popped a peppermint into his mouth, making him almost feel like a teenager trying not to get caught smoking.  God, he was whipped.

"Do you really think that will fool her?" his female companion asked, sounding rather amused by his actions.

Spike gave a small smirk to the woman at his side.  Catherine always had found his actions either funny or strange, especially for a vampire.  It seemed the longer they knew one another, the more amusement she got out of studying him.  She was kind of like a Watcher that way.  Well, a Watcher with a sense of humor anyway.

"Not really," he confessed, glancing down the track to try and see how close the train really was to arriving.  "But it's worth a try anyway."

"Is a cigarette really worth the risk of what she might do to you if she finds out that you are smoking again?" the heiress asked, raising an eyebrow.

"More afraid of what she won't do to me, pigeon," he smiled.  

If it had been one of the Scoobies, Spike was sure to get a reaction out of them, whether it was a face or a sucker punch, but Catherine just shook her head.  Damn, he missed the Scoobies, especially Harris, sometimes.  At least if it had been the whelp, he could almost pretend everything is normal.  But this was Catherine, and yet another reminder of why he was here in Russia and not back home in Sunnydale.  

They had picked up the heiress a couple of months ago, when the lead they had been following led them straight back to Madrid.  Catherine had already heard about what had happened and had her own people working on it.  Of course, they hadn't come up with anything more than what the Scoobies and the Fang Gang already knew.  She had been with him, Buffy, and the Watcher ever since, using her social status and name to their advantage when she could.  It was good to have friends in high places sometimes.

She didn't ask if Buffy and Giles had found anything out in Moscow.  She knew as well as he did that if they had, Buffy would have called them immediately with the news.  No call and both of them returning as scheduled on the five o'clock train meant that they hadn't even found anything worth investigating further.  Another dead end, another step back.  They weren't any closer to finding Dylan than they were yesterday, or the day before…and if that bloody train didn't show up soon he would need another cigarette.

"Maybe tonight will prove more fruitful," Catherine offered hopefully, seeing the look on the vampire's face.  "Surely someone will recognize her soon."

Spike sighed at the thought.  There were quite a few 'someones' out there that he didn't want to recognize his daughter.  It was dangerous that they knew what she looked like, even more that they knew she was away from her parents.  Dylan might be pretty well trained for a girl her age, but they had no where near started training her for the dangers that lurked out in the real world.  He couldn't shake the feeling that if something bad did find her before they did; he might not ever see her again.  Not that that wasn't looking like a real possibility now anyway.

Lost in his own thoughts, Spike hadn't really paid attention to the old style train that pulled into the station and was now stopped before them.  A few people around them began to shove as the conductor got off first and then began to help the passengers down.  Spike heard as family members greeted one another warmly, and even witnessed a young couple's more passionate reunion.  Part of him wanted to greet Buffy like that, but he knew that she would not be to willing after the surely trying day that she and the Watcher had had.

"Buffy!" Catherine called from beside him, having spotted the slayer somewhere down the platform.

Spike glanced down in the direction that the heiress was facing and saw the blonde looking for the young woman who had called her name.  Beside her, Giles was also looking, and was actually the one to spot them.  Catherine raised her arm to confirm that it was them, and the two soon joined them at the end of the platform.

The slayer gave Catherine a tired smile as she walked by her to Spike who she kissed gently before wrapping her arm around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder.  Giles chose to stand closer to Catherine, obviously still not quite use to this public show of affection that his slayer had taken up showing the vampire.  After seeing the weary look on Buffy's face, Catherine turned to Giles.

"No luck, then?"

"Um, no," the Watcher answered, shifting rather uncomfortably to avoid Spike's eyes as they looked at him.  "Nothing of use, anyway."

"Looks like we're going to have to go beat up that informant tonight," Buffy said off-handedly, her head still resting on Spike's shoulder.  "Then maybe he'll give us something useful."

"That is if he is still in St. Petersburg," Catherine pointed out.  "From what I remember, Spike gave the demon quite a scare the last time."

The vampire looked up at the heiress across from him.  She was right, of course, he had done a number on that little Ste'le demon, but it was only a scratch compared to what he'd do to him tonight if he found him.  Or if Buffy found him.

"Might I suggest that we continue this conversation back at the house," Giles said, looking around the still overcrowded train station.  "Not all people enjoy the blissful denial of Sunnydale, after all."

"Plus that's where the bed is," Buffy added, looking almost like she would fall asleep right there.  "Kind of want to catch forty before we go out tonight."

"Excellent idea," Giles said, looking worse for wear himself.

"Starting to feel your age, Rupes?" Spike smirked, not being able to resist.  "Cause I'm sure we can find you a wheelchair if you need one."

Giles glared at the younger looking man, as Catherine covered a smile and Buffy rolled her eyes.  "You're older than him," the slayer pointed out when the group turned to leave.  "By, like, a hundred years."

"True, but I look good for my age."

"That's because you're dead," she said, thinking about how they suddenly sounded like they used to before all this happened.  Leave it to Spike to try to get her to fight for a sense of normalcy.  "God, how can someone who's a hundred and twenty something act like he's twelve?"

"Practice, love.  Years and years of practice."

**********

Dylan sat in front of the chessboard, staring at the slightly older boy across from her.  He wasn't paying her much mind, instead choosing to concentrate on their game, but Dylan wanted to make it as clear as possible that she did not like him.  A glare might be a childish thing, but, hey, she was kid.  Plus it was the only thing she had in terms of control in her life now.  These people, that guy, Grandfather, who insisted she call him that, had control over her life and this boy, Sebastian, seemed to be his second-in-command, even if he was only a kid.

The boy surveyed the board one last time, then moved his Rook to counter her Knight.  He then glanced up into her glare, but ignored it to say, "Your move."

Dylan took one look down onto the board before moving her Bishop.  "Check," she said annoyed with an angry frown.

He lifted his eyes to her once more, his face still even and unreadable, before moving his King.

Instead of moving her piece, Dylan announced, "They'll come for me, and when my dad gets here he's going to kick your butt."

Sebastian sat there for a moment, not answering or showing the least bit of fear.  It was like he had been waiting for her to say it…again.  She had told him that every night since she had been with them, and every night Sebastian had remained quiet, hoping that perhaps she'd be right and the slayer and vampire would break down that door and save her, and maybe him.  But every night, no one came.  

He knew they must have gotten close a couple of times, that's why they had to keep moving like they did.  Grandfather had said it was because he wanted Dylan to get used to always traveling, to always being on the move and learn not to bother getting attached to things, but Sebastian knew the truth.  It would only be a matter of time.  Still, he knew what was coming.

"I know they'll come," he told her, looking back down at the board, contemplating her possible next move and how he could counter it.  "But it won't matter."

Dylan studied him for a moment, a bit put off by what he had just said.  "Why?  Why won't it matter?"

"It just won't," he said flatly.  Nudging his head towards the board, he told her again, "It's your move."

Narrowing her eyes on the boy, she pushed her Knight into a counter move.  Satisfied that this would keep him busy for a moment at least, she demanded, "Why won't it matter?"

He looked at the board with a certain amount of curiosity before asking, "Why do you always play better when you're angry?"

"Bastian!"

"Now, now, Dylan," a new, older voice said, tearing the young girl's attention away from the boy across from her.  "It's not polite for young ladies to scream like that."

She turned her icy stare over to the man who was keeping her away from her family and friends, as he walked across the room towards the children with the aid of his cane.  Her 'death stare,' as Jessie called it, was focused directly in on him, but the older man didn't pay it any mind, instead looking down at the board they were playing on.  Sebastian kept his head lowered, daring not to look at the man who towered over them.  Dylan couldn't help but wonder why he was so afraid of the old man.  What on earth could he have done to the boy to make him like that?

"Finish up your game, children," he ordered, smiling sweetly down on them like he was their grandfather.  "We have training to do."

**********


	2. The Warehouse

_Part 2: The Warehouse_

She sighed deeply as she rolled over in bed and onto her back.  It had been one of the better rests she'd had in a long time; no dreams, just a hard sleep.  To some, it might seem like a weird thing to be thankful for, a dreamless sleep.  But if they had seen the things she had in her dreams, they wouldn't be so quick to judge.  Besides, her dreams had a nasty little habit of coming true, especially the bad ones.

Buffy nestled herself farther into the comforter, allowing the feather mattress to contour to her body.  A part of her mind was scolding her for enjoying the comfort, telling her that she shouldn't get to feel good until Dylan was safe and sound back with them; but she was just so tired, that she didn't listen to it that night.  Well, Giles had warned her she would eventually reach a point where she couldn't get out of bed if she didn't slow down. Seems he was right, like always.

"Are you plannin' on gettin' up anytime tonight, love, or should we go kick some demon ass without you?"

The blonde slayer opened her eyes into small, sleepy slits and saw a grinning vampire standing at the side of the bed, finishing getting dressed for patrol that night.  Spike watched as the beginning of a smile touched the edges of her lips, only to fall away again once the last remains of sleep quickly left her.  He hated that she didn't smile anymore.  True, she would sometimes raise the tips of her lips in what could almost be mistaken for a smile, but it looked as if it took all her energy to do just that.  And it never reached her eyes.  Not once in the past three months had he seen her really smile, no matter what he did.

"Yeah," she sighed deeply, pushing herself up from the comfortable spot she had slid into.  "I'm coming."

No sooner than she had stood up then she weaved slightly before falling back to a sitting position on the bed.  Spike's eyes widened as she leaned forward, her head in her cupped hands like she had a headache.

"Buffy-love?"

When she looked up, she found him now standing in front of her, a worried look on his face.  Rubbing her eyes hard, she insisted, "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he bit back.  "You're exhausted."

Turning her head away, she rolled her eyes.  It was an old fight they had been having for the past two weeks.  He would insist that she was too tired to go out, she wouldn't listen, and they would be arguing for the next thirty minutes before Giles would tell Spike to just let her come along because there was no stopping a determined Buffy.  If the Watcher never interfered, they would probably fight all night, neither willing to back down.  If Spike didn't want her to go out with them, then he shouldn't wake her.  Of course, they both knew that if he didn't, she would just get up and head out anyway, only alone.  At least this way he was there if something should happen. 

"Don't start," Buffy warned as she stood and headed past him to the bathroom.  

This was usually the part were he grabbed her by the arm and insisted that she stay in that night, but he let her pass this time without a word.  He just stood there and sighed when he heard the door slam shut.  Really, what was he going to do with her?  She was so tired she could hardly even keep her eyes opened, but she was still going to go out with them.  He didn't care if she was the slayer and had a higher stamina for this kind of thing.  If she kept this up, she was going to end up in the hospital, or worse.

Sighing, he turned to the door and went downstairs to wait for Buffy.

The slayer stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself.  She knew she looked like she hadn't slept in days; in truth, besides the deep sleep she had enjoyed this afternoon, she really hadn't.  There was too much going on for her to sleep for too long.  She had to get back out there and find Dylan soon.  She didn't have much time left before…

Groaning, she rubbed her face again, trying her best to look a bit more presentable than before.  Her eyes still looked red and blotch, but a bit more focused than before.  Satisfied with that, she pulled at her shirt and headed out to meet the others.

**********

Moury left the bar in his usual drunken state.  Okay, so maybe it wasn't so much as left on his own free will but thrown out because he ran out of money.  Really, you think that his fellow demon friend would take pity on him because of his lack of cash this month, but does that no good two-face son of a Fasel?  No!  Even after Moury had gotten him that job in the first place, he gets all upset because he couldn't pay tonight.  Okay, he hadn't paid in the past three weeks, but that was beside the point.  Wait.  What was the point again?

The Ste'le demon weaved a little, half from the booze he had consumed, half from slipping on a small patch of ice in the middle of the side walk.  He hiccupped and then frowned deeply when he saw that his usually pink, patchy colored skin had turned to a solid black color.  No, wait. That was the glove he was wearing.  At least, he hoped it was a glove and not his camouflage ability.  His wife hated it whenever he changed on her, and hated it even more when he drank.  To come home both ways would spell certain death.

"Ouch," he heard a woman cry from ahead of him.  

The demon looked up to see a dark-haired woman bending over an expensive car with a popped hood.  Smoke was flowing up around her, as she tried to figure out what was wrong with the sports car.  A small grin grew on Moury's lips.  Yeah, this is just what he needed, a little mugging of the rich to tide over his debts for awhile.  

Rich people were always so easy to rob on the street.  They usually would take one look at the demon hidden under the hat and coat collar and high tail it the other way, leaving their stuff for him to go through and take what he wanted.  Why, he bet he could even get the car if he did this right.  She'd run, and he'd hotwire it and be sittin' pretty for the next couple of months.  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

He charged up to the woman, grabbed her by the shoulder, and spun her around to face him, all the while growling like some sort of feral animal.  However, he was the one that got the scare whenever he found who exactly the woman was.  It was Catherine Becket, which meant that nearby was-

"Oh, damn," he groaned slowly as she grinned.

Moury felt someone grab him by the shoulder and spin him very much like he had done the woman.  But, thanks to his drunken state, he stumbled and fell back towards the car, barely missing the heiress, who quickly sidestepped him.  It took a moment for his fuzzy vision to come into focused on the obviously pissed vampire that was growling from deep within his throat as he held the demon by the lapel of his coat.

Deciding that maybe he could play up the drunk, he placed a sloppy grin on his face and slurred out, "Ssspike.  What can I do you for?  For you.  I'll leave the doin' to the ssslayer."

He gave out a drunk laugh, but the vampire just continued to glare at him coldly.  "Moscow, Moury," Spiked growled.  "Remember?"

Gulping, the demon dropped his chin to make his eyes look wider and more innocent as he asked, "I take it the girl wasssn't there."

"Not for awhile, as we understand it," a new voice answered.

The demon turned his head to find the slayer standing nearby, her arms crossed and her face even.  Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared at him, almost as if she wished that Spike would throw him her way to let her have some fun beating the crap out of him.  Moury licked his suddenly dry lips as he thought that, if he didn't play this right, that very situation could happen, and he didn't think that the slayer would have much of a problem killing him for the old info he had given them.

"I just-I just tell what I hear, you know," he defended lamely, becoming more and more sober by the moment.  "I don't know if it'sss accurate or not."

"Well, you better get more accurate," the slayer threatened, a touch of a growl in her own voice.

Swallowing hard, the demon thought quickly.  "I-I heard something's goin' on tonight," he offered eagerly.  "Sssomething that might have to do with your girl."

He watched as the slayer's eyes widened and she looked from Spike to the older man, whom Moury assumed was her watcher, as if one of them might be able to tell if he were lying.  The vampire then tightened his grip on the demon's coat and moved in closer and hissed, "What?"

"There-There's this club, in the old industry section of town called The Warehouse. A real rough place, owned by some guy named Pushkin.  Place for demons, roughnecks, and such.  All I know is that word in the underground is for the demons to stay away from there tonight cause some old friend of his is coming in and bringin' some kids or something another.  Word is, the guy has a real thing against us nocturnal people, and is teachin' the kiddies his views, too."

The group exchanged a look, as if they were trying to decide whether he was being honest or not.  After checking on the other two, the vampire's eyes came to rest on the blonde slayer who seemed to have the final say in the matter.  She seemed to consider it for a moment, drew in a breath, and nodded her head.  Spike let go of his jacket, and Moury quickly tried to stumble around him to flee.  The slayer, however, stepped in his way.

"For your sake, you better hope you weren't lying," she warned coldly.

Gulping, the Ste'le demon shook his head in acknowledgement, before taking off down the street as fast as he could to get away from the group.  He ran for a couple of blocks before collapsing against a brick wall, clutching his side.  Moury huffed and puffed for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath and make the pain in his side go away, before moving slowly to the telephone booth at the end of the street.

Still wheezing, he closed the glass door, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little white card.  He dialed the number and waited for three rings before a man's voice answered.

"Yes?"

"They're on their way," Moury told him, checking over his shoulder and back up the street as if he were afraid they would appear from his mentioning them.  When no one showed up, he let out a sigh of relief, glanced down at his free hand and frowned.  It was still the shiny coal black like his jacket, but he could see his fingernails.  Damn camouflage.

**********

Dylan trailed along beside Sebastian, lost in her own little game of 'blow out a big puff of smoke like it's a cigarette.'  Sure, the ice-cold air hurt her lungs sometimes if she took in too big of breath or did it too quickly; but it at least gave her something to concentrate on besides Grandfather's over-powering and stinky aftershave.  Why he chose that as his sent of choice really solidified Dylan's theory that the man was absolutely insane.  Of course, maybe he wore it as a repellant of the undead and living alike.  Lord knows she'd stay away.

"Come along, children," the old man called over his shoulder to the pair.  "We do not want to be late."

Dylan eyed the old man, staring a hole into the back of his balding head.  It would seem that walking behind him like this would provide her the perfect opportunity to escape.  After all, she could be as quiet as a mouse when she wanted; part of that whole damphyr thing she had going.  

She had even tried it once, back in New York.  Unfortunately, Grandfather is a lot smarter than that and she hadn't even made it a block before Bastian caught her.  As punishment, the old man had cut her meals in half and doubled her training hours.  They had leveled off again, but it definitely got the message across to not do that again.

Ah well, she'd just have to move on to Plan B.  Now if she only knew what Plan B was, she'd be set.

With one last look to the old man, she turned to Sebastian and whispered in a voice so low that no human ears could pick it up, "Where are we going?"

The brown-haired boy glanced at her.  There was surprise in his eyes from her actually talking to him like another kid, but he quickly replaced it with his usual evenness.   "The Warehouse," he whispered in the same low voice.  "I think."

Her eyebrows drew together.  "That a club?"

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Bastian nodded his head before looking forward again towards their destination. 

A club?  Grandfather was taking them to a club?  But she thought he said they were going out to train?  Of course, that usually meant that he would take them to some cemetery he had already chosen, look for a fresh grave, sit back and bark orders while a fledgling tried to kill her.  

As of yet, she still couldn't really claim that she herself had dusted a vamp on her own; Bastian always seemed to step in just in time to save her from becoming Vampire Chow.  Well, unless you count that one time in that small town outside of Paris.  The vamp was on top of her, so she kicked at him with all her might.  He stumbled back from the force, tripped over his own headstone, and fell right onto a small sapling someone had planted in his memory.  The vamp had apparently been a so called 'tree hugger' when he was alive, and well, apparently that tree didn't like his affections. 

They rounded a corner and came into one of the many rougher parts of the city.  Grandfather paused at the corner, and the two children came up around him to see what he was looking at.  Halfway down the street was a large group of people standing in front of a building, bundled up in thick coats as they waited to be let into the building with the neon sign of 'The Warehouse' hanging from its side.  

It looked like the heavy metal kind of crowd.  A few of the men had tattoos going up the side of their faces or covering their hands, and Dylan was sure that they had many more, but were being covered by the jackets.  Some of the women's hair was dyed two different colors and had piercings all over their faces and ears.   Dylan couldn't help but stare at one that had half black hair, half pink, a nose ring, a stud under her lip, several rings in her left eyebrow, and a couple of black, tattooed tears coming out of her right eye.  If the people were any indication, this looked like a place her father would have probably enjoyed back in his younger days.

Grandfather smiled at the sight of the harder crowd, then started forward towards the club.  "Come along, children.  Mustn't keep them waiting."

Sebastian and Dylan exchanged a look.  Okay, so he wasn't crazy; he was certifiable.  There was absolutely no way they would fit into that crowd, but that didn't slow the old man down.  He only paused for a moment when he found that they were not following him and called for them to catch up.

Bastian then raised an eyebrow at Dylan. She groaned loudly and dropped her shoulders like children do whenever their parents tell them to do something they don't want to, and headed after the old man.

The rough crowd eyed the old man and two children with a sneer as they made their way through.  Sebastian and Grandfather didn't bother to look at them, instead just stared straight ahead at the doors like they had blinders on so that they couldn't see the crowd.  Dylan, however, turned her head from side to side, looking at every one of them that were staring at her.  She gulped a little, not liking the looks one bit, especially from that one bald guy standing by the door.  His stare was different from the others, like he had a thing about little girls.  Subconsciously, she moved closer to Bastian as they passed him and headed inside.

The inside of the club wasn't much better.  It was nearly completely pitch black and it somehow seemed darker with all the people dressed in black crowded inside. The only thing that really stood out were the neon heads out on the dance floor that were bobbing up and down to the song that the live band was screaming.  

The smell of fake fog was in the air, causing Dylan to feel slightly sick.  She didn't care what people said; she could actually smell the stuff and it always made her nauseated.  Oh, yeah, wouldn't that be cute.  She could see it now, her puking all over some three hundred pound Russian guy, ruining his leather jacket.  God, she hoped Bastian was as good a fighter as she thought he was.

A man came up from the crowd and headed straight for Grandfather when he saw the two children with him.  The guy was dressed in a gray, tailored suit, making him stand out from the rest of the crowd significantly.  He said something to the old man, but Dylan didn't know what.  One reason was she only understood a few words of Russian, and another was the music was drowning all sound out.  Really, the only word she caught that she understood was 'children.'

Grandfather grinned warmly, a chilling sight for anyone to behold, as he responded to the man.  While they were talking, Dylan leaned in close to Sebastian and asked, "What's he saying?"

"That we're not supposed to be here," he answered, watching the two men before them, almost like he was reading their lips instead of actually hearing what they were saying.  Bastian's eyebrows scrunched together before he said, "Grandfather says we're expected."

"By who?" the girl asked.

The boy shrugged as the old man turned back to the kids, smiled, and said, "Hurry up, children.  They are waiting."

When he turned to leave again, the two kids looked at one another, then proceeded to follow.  

*********

Phew, just barely got this out before I left for Spring Break (yeah!)  Anyway, just thought I'd let you guys know that the chapters will probably be coming out further apart than I like because of some computer problems I had recently and the amount of school work I have this semester.  Also, I want to say thank you for the great reviews.  I just get so happy when I see them.  Well, have fun guys.


	3. Lost

_Part 3: Lost_

Buffy did her best to move through the sea of people who were dancing to the metallic sounding music that flooded the club.  For a place that vamps and demons had supposedly been warned to stay away from tonight, it sure was packed.  True, from what she could tell, most were human, but she had run into a vamp here and there; and she would have sworn that was a Totel demon she had seen hitting on Catherine at the bar.

Most of the club goers were looking at her strangely, like she didn't belong there.  She guessed she really didn't look like she did.  After all, her outfit only consisted of about ten percent leather, from her boots, and she would swear that the place had an eight percent or more requirement just to get in the doors.  Of course, she didn't stand out nearly as much as Giles, who she had last seen pushing his way towards the back of the club.  If Californian blonde didn't mix in this place, then old, upper-class British guy really didn't fit in.

"Seen anythin' yet?" a familiar voice yelled, but was barely audible above the music.

She turned to find that Spike had seemingly magically appeared at her side.  Buffy let a small breath, gratefully to have run into him again after losing him in the crowd a few minutes after arriving.

"Nothing yet," she called back.  It had felt like she was nearly screaming, but her own voice had sounded like a soft whisper to her ears.  With a frown from sounding so small, she yelled again, "Have you seen Giles or Catherine?" 

Spike, who had been scanning the crowd while he stood with her, looked over at the little blonde and shook his head.  "No.  Lost 'em somewhere."

She paused for a moment.  "Or Dylan?"

The straight line of his lips turned slightly down at the tips before he shook his head again.  Not that Buffy had really expected that he had seen her, but, still, she felt her hopes deflate a little more at the gesture.  He saw this, placed his hand on her shoulder and offered a warm smile as if tell her not to give up just yet.  

After she weakly returned the smile, he said, "We should keep lookin' for this Pushkin guy.  I'll keep lookin' down here."  He nodded upward, drawing Buffy's attention to the second level that was overlooking the dance floor.  It was considerable higher than the one at the Bronze, which made sense since the whole building was larger then the club back home, with catwalks that spread out all over the place.  There wasn't as many people up there, and the people who were along the catwalks looked like they were much more interested in their partners than the rest of the club that could see everything they were doing.  "Why don't you have a look around up there," Spike suggested.

Buffy nodded, then asked, "Meet you at the bar in thirty?"

"Right," he agreed.  

With one last reassuring smile, he disappeared back into the crowd.  With a sigh, the slayer turned to look at the second story before heading for the metal stairwell.

**********

It wasn't so bad back here.  Sure, there were still a lot of people, but at least the music wasn't so loud that one couldn't think.  At least, that's the way Dylan felt.  

The young girl was sitting next Sebastian in a table that was stuck in the back corner of the second story, almost like they had been trying to hide them away from prying eyes.  Considering she and the boy next to her were at least ten years to young to be here, she could understand why.  Not like she really minded being tucked away from all those weirdo's, though.

The guy who met them at the door had led them up there and, from what Bastian said, told them to wait. Grandfather hadn't seemed too happy about that, but said nothing.  Instead, he had chosen to wait quietly like asked, until a person speaking Russian came towards them with a large smile.  The old man smiled at the sight of the man who was obviously his friend, and stood to greet him properly.

The man was middle-aged or a little older.  His once black hair was turning a nice silver color and had thinned considerable over the years.  He stood nearly as tall as Grandfather, but had a much broader pair of shoulders, that looked even wider thanks to the navy blue, pinstriped suit he was wearing.  Dylan figured it was because he wanted to look thinner than he actually was, but those strips would have be a lot wider to pull off that effect.

They greeted one another in Russian, and Dylan could imagine what they were saying.  By the reactions to one another, it must have been the usually 'How are you?' and 'Good.  How's the wife?' 'Oh, fine.  And yours?' or some such nonsense.  Grandfather was continuing to speak as he and the man came to the table and sat down.

Dylan raised an eyebrow at the two other men that come up with the middle-aged man.  They were standing off at separate sides, constantly looking around as if they were waiting for someone to launch a sudden attack on them at any moment.  The feeling that she had stepped into some modern day gangster movie had plagued her since she walked through the door.  Now, with the two irritable men off to the side and a well dressed man across from, Dylan suddenly found herself wondering when the door was going to be broken down with someone yelling 'This is a raid.'

Grandfather and the man exchanged a few more words and laughed at a joke the middle-aged man made.  The old man, still chuckling, then turned his attention to the small girl across from them.

"Dylan, Sebastian, I want you to met an old friend of mine, Serge Pushkin.  He owns this fine establishment."  The way the old man said these words caused Dylan to seriously wonder if they were actually friends or if maybe this Pushkin guy only thought they were.  Still smiling, the Grandfather said, "You'll have to forgive him, children.  For all his talents, poor Mr. Pushkin doesn't speak a word of English.  This is a real shame, especially considering the many international contacts he must maintain in his occupation."

Dylan's eyes furrowed at the statement.  "I thought you just said that he owns the club?" the girl said, though she knew that that wasn't the only thing the man did.

"I know you are smarter than that, Dylan-darling," Grandfather grinned.  She watched in amazement as the old man reached over and placed his arm around Pushkin's shoulders like they were drinking buddies, a very odd sight to see for the usually reserved old man.  "You see, children, even though Mr. Pushkin has tried very hard to keep up the appearance of a legitimate businessman, he most certainly does not make his money that way.  He cheats, he steals, and he kills for what he wants.  And not only that, he also deals with demons and vampires openly.  I have known Mr. Pushkin for many years, and I can honestly say that he is one of the worst human beings I have ever met in my entire life."

Dylan was beyond confused now.  Grandfather was saying how much he disliked this man, but he was saying it in an endearing tone.  To Mr. Pushkin, it probably sounded like he was talking about great he was, which was probably why the old man was using such a tone.

"Why, in the past year, Mr. Pushkin has been involved in at least two murders and several disappearances directly," Grandfather went on, smiling broadly at the old man and shaking his shoulders like he was telling some story that the middle-aged man should be proud of.  Pushkin laughed slightly, like he thought he was supposed, and a grinning Grandfather turned back to the children.  "Now, Dylan, do you know what that makes Mr. Pushkin?"

She glanced over to Bastian at her side, as if to ask him for the answer.  But the boy just sat there, his eyes cast down to the dark wood table, leaving her on her own.  "Um…a bad man?" 

For a moment, Grandfather's grin turned genuine.  "Very good, Dylan.  You are learning.  Now, what do we do with bad men?"

"Call the cops?" she said slowly, like the answer should be obvious.

The old man's face fell at the answer.  "Oh, tisk, tisk, Dylan," he said sadly, sounding an awful lot like her grandmother whenever her Aunt Dawn had brought home a bad grade.  "You see, my dear, Mr. Pushkin lines the pockets of the city officials, so what good would it be to call them to arrest him?  So, Dylan, I'll ask again.  What do we do with bad men?"

The child sat there for a few minutes, then shrugged.  "I don't know."

The grin returned as the old man turned to look at the still smiling Pushkin.  Grandfather drew his hand back to where he was rubbing the back of his 'friends' neck.  "Same thing we do with all other bad things," Grandfather said, looking at the middle-aged man but speaking to the girl.  "We destroy them."

No sooner had the old man said that then his face furrowed up in almost a feral anger and his other hand shot out from his side to seize the other side of Pushkin's head.  Dylan jumped slightly at the sound of his neck popping and she was sure her eyes went as wide as saucers while her jaw dropped.  She had never actually seen anyone murdered before her eyes before, and it sent her into a semi state of shock.  She didn't enjoy it long, though, before things went bad around her.

**********

Buffy walked out onto the suspended platform that was the second story of the club and began to scan the area.  This section of the club was a bit better than the downstairs, and she at least felt like she could breathe again up here.  It was just as dark here as it was below, but there were tables set up a bit farther back balcony and it almost looked like a restaurant.  There was a bar in the middle of the floor, which looked much classier then the one downstairs; and there were even a few women running around between the tables like they were actually waitresses.

The slayer took a few steps out onto the floor when she felt someone touch her shoulder.  She spun around with her fist raised like she had thought someone was about to attack her.  Catherine, stunned, took a step back and held up her hands.

Groaning, Buffy let her fist fall and scolded, "Don't you know better than to sneak up on a slayer?"

"I am sorry," the black-haired woman apologized.  "I did not mean to startle you."

Sighing, the slayer shook her head.  "No, I've been bit jumpy lately.  You know, from the whole not getting a lot of sleep thing, and Cranky Buffy equal's Dangerous Buffy."

"So I have seen," she grinned, a small glint in her eyes as the two women began to walk the second story.  "I take you have not had much better luck in finding Mr. Pushkin than I have."

"Well, it would've helped if Moury would've, you know, given us description or something.  And it's not like I can ask people here if they've seen him.  Well, I could, but I wouldn't have any idea what they were saying."

"It would not matter if you did.  I have asked several of them, and all they keep saying is that he is unavailable at the mom-."  Catherine stopped mid-sentence when she found that the slayer had stopped following her.  Instead, she was standing a few feet behind the heiress, starring at something off to the side. "Buffy?  What is it?"

The blonde stood there, not believing her eyes.  Off in a back table sat her daughter, looking confused by something.  There were two large men sitting in front of her, but they had their backs to Buffy and she couldn't make out who they were.  Halfway covered was a young boy who sat next to Dylan, his head lower and his brown hair covering most of his face.

"Dylan," she squeaked out, feeling oddly calm at that moment.

The man who had his arm around the other man's neck began to rub it, and a second later, Buffy watched her daughter witness the man's death.  Shock hit the girls face as the sound of the man's neck being broken seemed to echo throughout the whole club.  The slayer blinked when she caught movement from the corner of her eye and two well dressed men swirled around to the sound.  As one of them turned, he reached into his jacket, pulled out something that was shiny, and took aim at the table.

"NO!!" Buffy screamed, taking off at full slayer speed.  

But the man either didn't hear her or chose to ignore the scream and was about to fire when the slayer dove into his side, knocking him to the ground.  The gun went off, but the shot was fired at a weird angle, missing everyone at the table.  When the two hit the ground, the man landed hard on the arm he had used to aim at the table, causing him to lose his grip on the gun.  The black weapon went sliding off into the darkness, while more screams erupted from the shot and then people began to run to get off the second story.

Something crashed nearby, and Buffy looked up to see that the table Dylan had been sitting at had been overturned as a sort of shield from any more fire.  However, the man the slayer had tackled used the moment she had been distracted and bucked up to throw her off him.  As she fell, he twisted them to where he was now on top of her, and punched her hard across the face.  He scrambled quickly to his feet while she blinked from dizziness, and kicked her in the head, causing the fog to thicken around her.

There was another man, firing at something that must have been running by the sound of the rapid shots.  The man that had kicked her started to move towards where his gun had slid, but she couldn't let him get a hold of it.  Her arm shot out and grabbed the man by the ankle, tripping him.  He fell hard to floor, and Buffy scrambled towards where he was reaching.  Just before her fingers touched the gun's handle, the man kicked her legs, causing her to belly flop back flat to the ground again, before he went for the gun again.  Their hands were inter-tangled with one another, and, for a moment, Buffy lost track of which were hers and which were his.

Finally, the slayer gritted her teeth; pulled back one of her hands, and backhanded him in the face with her fist.  His body instantly became still from being knocked unconscious, and Buffy successfully scooped up the gun.

She wobbled uneasily on her feet from the kick to the head, and the gun felt heavy in her hand.  She tossed it as far away as she could, and then began to look around for Dylan.

**********

Dylan wasn't sure what was happening.  She remembered seeing Grandfather break Pushkin's neck, then some movement, and then a loud bang, like a gun going off.  The next thing she knew, she saw Bastian turn the table up to protect them from more fire before he grabbed her wrist and began to pull her out of there.  

Her legs felt like lead as the boy drug her along as fast as he could towards the balcony, all the while a popping sound following them.  She felt something breeze past her several times, and a small cry escaped her when she felt it graze across the skin of lifted leg.  This caused her to go crashing to the ground, just feet from the balcony's edge.  People were screaming as they ran by, not paying any mind to the two children who were running for their lives.  

Sebastian turned to see why she had fallen, and Dylan watched in what seemed like slow motion as his shoulder jerked back and something grazed it.  He cried in pain as the force threw him backward to the ground.  His hand shot up to cover the wound, but his shirt was already turning a dark, crimson color.

The girl looked up from the boy to see a dark-haired woman pushing her way towards them.  The woman broke away from the crowd and was charging right at them when another shot rang out.  Dylan watched as she jerked back, just as Sebastian had; her face in shock.  She stumbled backwards, hit the railing, and slid down to the ground.

Dylan glanced back at the shooter, who looked as if he were angry with his weapon.  Off to the side, there was another scuffle going on, but Dylan couldn't take her eyes off the man who had just shot two other people and possibly her.  He growled at the gun that now seemed to be useless, before throwing it angrily to the side and coming at her.

The girl glanced over to Sebastian, the one who had unofficially turned into her protector in such situations.  But he was still clutching his shoulder, groaning in pain.  He looked up for a moment, and apparently had seen the man coming as well; and tried to lift himself up, only to fall back down to the ground.  That told Dylan one thing, she was on her own here.

The young girl struggled to her feet, the back of her right leg throbbing in pain, but she did her best to ignore it for the time being.  The attacker grinned evilly as she fell back into a fighting stance, leading off with her left foot that she placed most of her weight on.  But, like most people, he was underestimating her because she was just a kid.

When he reached her, he lifted his arm up to back hand her, but Dylan's fist shot out first and landed square in his stomach.  The much tall man doubled over from the force; and the blond child spun on her left foot and kicked him as hard as she could across the face with her injured leg.  She screamed out in pain from the contact, and fell to the ground with him.  

While she lay there, holding her leg in agony, she looked over to the man that lay at her side.  His head was turned to her, and he had the strangest, glassy look while a little blood leaked out of his nose.  Dylan managed to sit up and studied the man next to her.  His head was at a curious angle, and he wasn't trying to move to hurt her anymore.

"Oh, God, Dylan," she heard someone say.  The child looked up and saw her mother standing a few feet away from her; Buffy's face was white at the sight before her.  She looked up to meet Dylan's eyes before asking, "What've you done?"

**********

Buffy couldn't believe what she was seeing.  Dylan had just broken that man's neck, and the child didn't even seem to know it.  She just sat there, staring almost dumbly at her mother as if she expected her to say or do something.  But Buffy didn't know what she could do, except stare.

"Why thank you, Ms. Summers," a voice said from behind her.  Spinning around on her heels, Buffy came face to face with a figure from her past that she honestly never thought she would ever see again.  He then grinned and said, "I couldn't have done this without you."

Blinking, she heard herself say, "Travers?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before she felt something hit her in the upper abdomen.  The blonde slayer felt something hot and sticky leak onto her hand that had instinctively reached for the spot, and she looked down to see it covered in blood.  Her eyes lifted slightly and she saw the gun she had tossed away smoking a few inches from her in his hand.  Someone screamed-Dylan, maybe?-and Buffy felt her knees give out as she fell to the floor and darkness.

Standing over the unconscious and surely dying woman, Travers snorted in pleasure at the sight.  God, he wanted to do that for the longest time.  He dropped the gun onto her body, shifted the cane back to his right hand, and looked up at the shocked and confused little girl a few feet from him.  

That brat Sebastian had finally managed to get to his feet again, but was still clutching his wound as he approached Dylan.  The boy looked up to him for instruction, and the old man simple nodded to the girl to get her to her feet.

Straightening out his clothes to regain his proper look, Travers told them, "Time to go, children."

**********

Chaos ruled the club as Spike did his best to get upstairs to its source.  He had been on the other side of the room whenever the first shot rang out, and had barely made it half way through the sea of fleeing people when he thought the shots were finished.  Somewhere along the way, he had bumped into Giles, who had thought that this was something that he should investigate instead of run from. The last shot had been fired a few minutes ago, just as they reached the bottom of the crowded stairs.  

"Move out of the way!" Giles roared, pushing the fleeing people to the side the best he could.  Spike had growled at a few, but they were already so frightened they hadn't noticed.  When they reached the second floor, the vampire felt his already cold blood drop a few more degrees.

There was blood everywhere, from at least four different people, but the ones that caught his attention belonged to Buffy and Dylan.  His daughter had been there, and had been injured, but the child was now gone, along with another person who's blood was thick in the air.

There were several bodies laying around, and the first one to catch their attention was the dark-haired girl slumped against the balcony.  Giles moved past him and to Catherine's side.  He checked her quickly, then said, "She needs a doctor."

But Spike's eyes were locked on another body and he didn't hear him.  Swallowing hard, he said barely above a whisper, "Buffy."

**********

(Okay, I'm really not out to hurt or kill Buffy by any means, but she always just seems to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.  Also, because of school, it'll probably be awhile before I can get the next chapter up, just to let you guys know.)


	4. The News

AN: Sorry it took so long to get this next part out, but RL was getting in the way again.  But, good news is, school's almost out so I'll have some free time coming up soon *Yeah!*  Anyway, on with the story and please review J.

***************

_Part 4: The News_

Dylan fought feverishly to get away and head back to the club.  Bastian was doing his best to drag her along, but she knew he was injured and kept hitting his shoulder.  Though he was letting small yelps escape from his lips and there were tears rolling down his cheeks from pain, he held tight onto the girl's wrist with his good hand.  Apparently, he was less afraid of bleeding to death than Grandfather.

"Let me go!" she screamed again, jerking and pulling at her wrist with all her might.  She hit Bastian again, and yelled, "Now!  Let me go!"

A few feet in front of them, Travers stopped with a groan, his anger getting the better of him.  With a quickness that someone his age should not have, the old man turned around to the children, his eyes narrowed on the struggling girl.  Sebastian's own eyes widened at the look on Grandfather's face, as Travers stalked back to the girl that the boy was still holding.  

For a moment, Sebastian considered letting her go, to give her a chance, but the boy saw the streak of white and knew he had waited to long.  There was a smashing sound as the panther head cane came into contact with its intended mark.  The force was so great that it ripped Dylan's wrist from his hand and she fell to the ground.  Sebastian turned towards the girl fully- who was now dazed from the hit-and the large, old man that towered over her.

Dylan blinked a couple of times, and spat out the coppery taste that was filling her mouth.  She knew something had hit her, but what she wasn't quite sure.  The girl winced as she pushed her self up on her side, then narrowed her eyes on the man over her.  His face was hard and even while he stared down at her.  She would swear it was the coldest look she had ever seen him give.

"You shot her," she hissed at him.  "You shot my mother!"

"It's not as if you liked her anyway," he told evenly.

"She's my mother!"

"I think you mean was."

Growling, Dylan promised, "I'm going to kill you."

Before she could move, the black polished bottom of his cane hit her wounded leg that she had pretty much been able to forget about until that moment.  A surge of pain shot up her body, causing Dylan to give out a small cry.  She then felt the ivory head of the cane hit her shoulder and push her back to where she couldn't get up off the ground.

"Now you listen to me very well, girl," Travers growled.  "_I had you created. _You_ belong to me.  You always have, and you always will.  You are nothing more than a thing I own and I do not take kindly to being threatened by my belongings."_

"I am not a thing," she dared to say.

"Oh, really," he answered dryly with a raised eyebrow.  "You are not a thing?  You really believe that damphyr's aren't things?  Well, Dylan, my darling, I can assure you, you are mistaken.  You proved that yourself tonight.  Any normal child would not have been able to fight off that man, let alone kill him as easily as you did.  And to kill him right in front of you mother.  Really, what she must have thought of you."

Dylan swallowed hard, trying to fight that tight feeling in her throat and stinging wetness in her eyes.  She had seen the look on Buffy's face, that shock and horror.  For a moment, she would have almost sworn that the slayer was afraid of her.

"Your mother has never liked me, I won't lie about that," Grandfather went on.  "But I must say I do believe that by that look on her face tonight that she hated you.  Surely you must have noticed that disgust that passed in her eyes."

"Shut up," the child spat weakly.

"Why?  It's true, and you, my dear, know it.  In her eyes, you proved yourself no better than the things she fights at night.  You really are you father's child; you're demonic, soulless father."

"Dad has a soul," Dylan defended, trying to not let his words affect her, but failing.

"Of course he does.  Now."  A small smile appeared on Travers' lips when he saw the confusion on her face.  "Oh, so they never told you, did they?  I must hand it to Rupert; I did not believe that he would be able to keep that little secret from you for so long.  Or those other-what do you call them?  Scoobies?  Whatever they are, I did not think that they could keep their mouths shut about your father and his soulless ways."  He lifted the cane from her shoulder and pointed it in her face.  "Your father, my dear, was soulless when you were born.  An evil demon, just like the ones that we hunt at night.  A demon is your real father, and he passed some of that onto you."

"You're lying!"

"No, child, I'm not," he said calmly, though she could easily see that he was enjoying this little torture section.  "You can feel it, crawling around inside of you.  That evil. You can sense it too, in others.  A trait only other demons have.  You really are an evil little thing.  Why, just look around you right now.  One of the few people who actually still give a damn about you is standing there quietly, letting himself bleed to death on a sidewalk because of you."

Dylan turned her eyes away from the old man and over to the boy that was watching from the side.  The hand that had been holding her wrist had returned to his wound, trying to stop what little bleeding it was still doing.  He had been lucky that the bullet had only grazed him and not hit him full on, or he probably would have died by now.  Still, his face was paler than usual, and it needed to be attended to soon.

And she was wasting time here.  She had already killed someone tonight. Now she might very well kill another?!  Maybe she really is as evil as Grandfather says.  She had to be.  Buffy had seen it, back at the club.  She had killed that guy.  Oh, God, she killed him, and that was the last thing her mother had seen.  She really was evil.

Travers grinned at the look on the girl's face.  He was winning, that stubborn spirit of hers was finally breaking.  A few more days of her mulling over what she's done and that her mother had seen, with his gentle reminding of course, and she'll be his.  Really, he had to thank Ms. Summers.  She might not have been a great slayer, but she most certainly served her purpose well.

Pulling his cane away to let the child up, he ordered, "Help Sebastian back.  He needs medical attention.  You both do."

Travers turned away from the pair, not even wondering for a moment if they were going to follow.  They would come.  After all, they belonged to him, and they knew it.

**********

The windowless waiting room was crowded that night, mostly with people from the club or their family members.  Only a few people had actually been shot, but the mad rush to get out had caused several more deaths and quite a few injuries.  Spike was sure that it was big news about a shooting and the deadly stampede and it would be on every station.  Humans never could get enough of bad news it seems.

He was leaning forward in the plastic seat, his head in his hands.  God, he hated this bloody place.  It might have something to do with that he didn't trust any doctor as far as he could throw them; or maybe the fact that the place had a familiar ring that reminded him of that soddin' place he and Buffy had been trapped in before Dylan was born.  Mostly, though, he hated it here because he felt so helpless.  There was nothing he could do, except sit and wait, and he was never any good at waiting.  

_Buffy probably wouldn't be alive if I was_, he thought with a humorless grin.

"Any word yet?" Giles asked, sitting down in the plastic, orange seat next to him.

Spike drew in a long, deep unneeded breath and looked at the Watcher at his side.  The older looking man had a warm grin on his face, silently begging the younger to have some good news; but the vampire just dropped his eyes from his and shook his head. 

"Nothin' yet," he said sadly.  A still moment passed, and then he asked, "Did you get ahold of the others yet?  Joyce and the Niblet?"

"Yes," the watcher said.  "I believe they might be coming on the first available flight, but I'm not sure."

The blond man sighed as he leaned back in his seat.  "I shouldn't have sent her up there."

"You couldn't have known," Giles told him, not feeling like dealing with a pity party on top of everything else.  "And we still don't know what started it.  It could have simply been that we were at the wrong place, at the wrong time.  It's been known to happen."

"Not to us, Watcher," Spike said solemnly.  "Whatever happened up there had to do with Dylan."

"You can't be-."

"She was there," he repeated the fact firmly.  "She was injured, too."

"How do you know?"

Spike paused for a moment, considering whether or not he should tell him the answer or not.  Well, it's not like it's a big secret about vampires, but it still sounded really creepy to say, even to him.  "I could smell her blood, Rupert." 

Giles stared at him for a long moment, not saying anything as he absorbed what Spike had just said.  The Watcher was wigged, as Buffy or Dawn would say, but was doing that weird proper thing he does when he didn't want to seem wigged.  Despite himself, Spike smiled.  Even when something bad happens, seeing Giles squirm was still fun to watch.

Clearing his throat, the watcher shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, "Oh."

Since they were already on the subject, Spike decided to go ahead and tell him the rest.  "Someone else was injured," the vampire told him.  "Someone who's missin' too."

"Another patron perhaps?"

"Wouldn't bring it up if it was just another human," Spike said point blank.  "They're different.  Sort of like…Course, I'm probably just losin' my mind to think that."

Giles studied him for a moment.  He looked like Spike had just been telling him the most interesting story, and had stopped right before the best part.  "What?" he asked, his eyes looking awful owlish behind his wire-rim glasses.

Spike looked over at the man at his side, and decided that perhaps he wouldn't think that he was crazy.  But as he opened his mouth to answer, another voice cut him off.

"Mr. Summers?"

The two men looked up to see an older bald man standing over them.  He was wearing the typical white lab coat with the stethoscope hanging around his neck: the tale, tale signs of a doctor. His smile grew when he realized he indeed had found the right person and Spike scrambled to his feet.

"Buffy?"

"Is going to be fine," the doctor said in English, but with a thick Russian accent.

Spike let out a sigh of relief, as Giles said, "Oh, thank God."

The doctor continued to smile at them.  Apparently giving out good news was something he enjoyed.  With a small laugh, he told Spike, "She is a very lucky woman.  An inch lower or to the right, and there would have been little we could have done for her. And there would have been no way we could have saved the child."

The vampire chuckled to himself.  "Luck has nothin' to do with it, mate.  Buffy's just one stubborn-Wait.  What?"

**********

She sat back in the hospital bed, staring off into nothing.  So close.  She had been so close tonight. She could have literally reached out and touched Dylan, but she had lost her…again.  And not only that, but she had nearly gotten herself killed in the process.  Herself and…

Buffy dropped her eyes and watched as her hand lightly traced over the blue and white hospital gown that covered her still flat stomach.  Of course, she didn't think it would stay that way for long. It hadn't whenever she was pregnant with Dylan.  God, she had nearly killed it tonight.  Yeah, wasn't she a front runner for 'Mother of the Year.'

But what was she supposed to do?  Trade one child for the other?  She didn't know if she could do that, and didn't know if she should try.  The baby is so vulnerable, but so is Dylan, maybe even more so after tonight.

Her daughter had killed that man tonight, and didn't even seem to understand what she had done.  Part of Buffy was grateful for that, that she still had that touch of innocence after that, but she knew it wouldn't last long.  All that had been was shock, and once it wore off…well, she didn't want to think about that, especially since she wasn't here with them.  God, Dylan was going to need them so much in the next couple of days, and she was still missing.  Still with _him.  _

Buffy drew her fingers into a tight fist as she thought about the old watcher she had seen that night.  She couldn't really say that she was surprised. Now that she thought about this whole thing did stink of the Council, but they had really crossed the line this time.  She swore once she got out of this place, she was going to England and show those watchers what it's like to be on the receiving end of a pissed slayer.

The blonde was concentrating so hard on what she was going to do to the Council that she hadn't even noticed the vampire that had come into her room.  He stood back for a moment, watching her look over in the other direction of the room.  She had tight frown on her face, the same one she wore whenever he had kidnapped Peaches to cure Dru all those years ago.  Whoever she was thinking about better prepare for a big hurt, was all he could say.

Not that he was going to let her do anything like any time soon.  Not after finding out that she's…God, he's an idiot.  He knew something was wrong with her, but he thought she was just exhausted.  The idea that she was actually pregnant had never even entered his mind.  But now that he knew, there were things, little things that started to make sense.  Her restless sleep. The pain he knew she was in but she never told him about. Her sudden taste for that god awful borsch that he thought had been making her sick.  Well, turns out it wasn't the borsch.

Spike glanced down at her stomach where she had her hand was lying.  He had wondered if she had known; that maybe, like him, she had convinced herself that had been something else.  But now, that he was looking at her lying there, he knew she had.  That hand was there to protect what lay beneath while she thought of hurting whoever she was thinking of hurting.  And knowing that she had known made him very angry with her.

Buffy was jerked back to reality when she heard what she almost mistaken for a growl coming from the other side of her room.  She looked up and found Spike standing there, watching her intensely.  He didn't have that expression of 'I'm glad you're alive' that she had expected.  No, she would say it looked more like 'I know, and I'm pissed' more than anything.

Her throat went dry.  This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Hey," Buffy said, pushing herself up more in a sitting position.  She winced for a moment from wound, but pushed it out of her mind.  "How's Catherine?"

Spike dropped his eyes down to the ground as he began to walk towards her.  So, she wanted to play it like that?  Fine, he'd play along for the moment.

"Not as good as you," he answered, coming to stand beside her bed.  "But she's stabilized, from what I understand.  Hasn't woke up though."

"Oh," Buffy said softly.  

She had only seen Catherine for a moment before everything had gone black, so she hadn't been sure how badly the woman had been hurt.  It might have not been as bad as Buffy, but thanks to slayer healing abilities, the blonde was going to do much better anyway.  

It amazed Buffy that she had actually died eight years ago from a stab wound that is only a few inches away from the gun shot wound she now had, but that hadn't killed her.  Maybe the PTB finally decided to give her a break, but she had serious doubts about that.  Something told her was that this little stroke of luck was going to cost her in the long run somehow.

"Is Giles…?"

"He's fine," Spike said calmly, sitting down on the edge of her bed.  "He was with me when everything happened."

"Good."

They sat there in silence for a long time; Spike staring at her, waiting for her to tell him, and Buffy avoiding his eyes at all cost.  She knew she was just making things worse, but she just couldn't bring herself to say it, even if he did already know.  

If she said it, then it was real.  If it was real then she would have to start to think about it.  If she started to think about it, she would have to start taking it into account when she did things.  If she took it into account, she knew she couldn't live with herself if something happened to it, so she would start making decisions that would protect it.  If she made those decisions, then she couldn't look for Dylan like she wanted.  If she didn't look for Dylan the right way, she would never see her again.  

So, no, she couldn't tell him.  She couldn't say the words, or she would lose her daughter.  _One child or the other, Buffy thought bitterly.  And she thought that choosing between Dylan and Dawn had been hard._

"I know," he finally said after a moment.

Buffy didn't look up at the words, just continued to stare down at nothing.  God, he had even told her and she refused to tell him.  

"I know," she answered softly.  

Spike stared dumbly at her for a moment. "Well? When did you plan on tellin' me?  Or were you just waitin' until I noticed that you couldn't see your feet anymore?"

She offered no answer.

"Well?" he pushed.  When she didn't say anything, he exclaimed, "Buffy!"

"What?" she suddenly bit back, finally looking up at him.  Her eyes were burning with anger from his pushing, along with pain and confusion.  "What do you want me to say, huh?  You know.  I know.  Do you really have to hear me say it?!"

"Yes!" he snapped back, not understanding why she was fighting this so much.  With a heavy, almost angry sigh, he said, "You told me about Dylan easy enough, and we didn't even like each other then.  Why can't you tell me about this one?"

"Because," she said, dropping her eyes from his again.

"Because why?"

He had expected her to yell her answer back at him, like she had the night she told him about Dawn and the Key.  But she didn't.  Instead, a small, almost trembling voice answered him.  "Because I just can't," she told him, lifting her eyes to show that they were now slightly shiny from unshed tears.  "Cause the second I tell you, I'll lose Dylan and I can't when we're this close."

Confusion appeared on his brow as he tried to understand.  "Love, you won't lose her by tellin' me you're havin' another one."

"Yes, I will because the second I say it, it'll be real; and I won't put it in danger and that's where Dylan is."  

They sat there for a long moment in silence, letting him understand what she was saying.  He understood, he really did, but it wasn't going to change anything.  She was still going to have stop and leave this to him and the Watcher.  Reaching over, he pulled her to him and just held her for a moment.

"I saw her tonight," she finally went on solemnly.  "At the club.  She was upstairs with us."

Spike sighed slightly as he pulled away from her to look her in the face again.  "I know."  There was a pause as he tried to decide whether or not he should ask if she saw what happened to Dylan.  Partly from fear that it was an answer that he really didn't want to hear; partly because he didn't know if Buffy had seen or not and he didn't want to upset her anymore than she already was.  Still, he had to know.  "How was she hurt?"

The blonde slayer blinked from the question.  Dylan had been hurt?  Now that she thought about it, when she…kicked that man, she had fallen to the ground in pain.  Oh, yeah, her leg.  Now that she thought about it, it had been covered in blood.  But it hadn't looked to bad.  And besides, how did Spike…oh, that's right.  Vampire.

"I don't know," she answered honestly.  "It wasn't bad, though.  She was still able to-."  

Buffy stopped mid-sentence, realizing she had no idea what she was going to him what Dylan had done.  Coming out and saying that their daughter had killed someone right in front her just didn't seem right, even if it was the truth.  

"She was still able to defend herself," Buffy finally offered.  

It was true enough; Dylan had only been defending herself.  It wasn't murder, but still.  

"There's more," she went on, trying to drive the conversation away from what she had seen.  "I know who took her.  I know who he is."  She watched him search her face for signs that she was telling the truth while, at the same time, surprise ran in his eyes.  Slipping into the slayer who spoke in a cool tone, she asked, "Have you ever heard of a guy named Quentin Travers?"

**********

Dylan lay on her bed; one leg wrapped and propped up on a pillow while the other was bent up towards her.  She had a small room here, much smaller than the one back Sunnydale.  Unlike home, this one was half the size, with a single bed stuffed into a corner and a dresser for the few clothes she had with her.  There was one window, but it was high on the wall and was far too small for even her to escape through.  And even if she did, she didn't have anywhere to go but straight down several stories.  

Connor might have been able to make it, and she had even seen Sebastian jump from that height a couple of times; but she wasn't about to test the theory that, because she was the daughter of a vampire, big fall doesn't equal big splat. 

Not that escaping really mattered that much to her anymore.  Where would she go?  She had done something that she had always been warned against.  Her dad and Giles and the others had always told her to be careful with her power because she could easily hurt someone, and she always had been.  Even those scraps she had gotten into at school, she was always very careful not to hurt them too bad, just rough them up a little.  

But this guy was coming after her to kill her, she had no doubt about that, so she fought back.  One punch to the stomach to make him double-over enough to where she could kick him across the face and it was finished…he was finished.  She had done something that was next to unforgivable for someone who was going to be a slayer; she had killed a human being.  

Dylan had heard the stories about Faith.  She heard what the other said about her and what she had done.  In the end, Faith had been able to redeem herself, but the others had never fully trusted her again, not really.  

Dylan barely remembered her, except that she had dark hair and liked to hang around her dad.  She would bum smokes off of him, or make lewd jokes that the others would look at her like she was crazy for saying in front of children.  But sometimes her dad would smile at them or even laugh.  That had been one of the first times Dylan could remember her dad really smiling, except for her.  

But the others weren't comfortable around her; she could see it in their eyes.  They always had that shine that whispered 'murderer' when they looked at Faith.  The dark-haired slayer saw it too.  Probably why she left and never came back.  She said that it was because her dad and the others could take care of things and didn't need her anymore, but Dylan knew.  It was the same way they looked at her father and Angel.  They had been killers and always would be. And now so was she.

A small knock came from her door and Dylan looked up to see Bastian standing there.  His arm was in a sling, but it would probably be gone within the next couple of days, tomorrow night at the earliest.  He looked at her with sad eyes, and came into the room quietly.

"Grandfather says we'll be leaving soon," he told her as he came to stand beside her bed.  "He wants to leave before sunset today."

Dylan didn't say anything, nor did she raise her eyes to meet his as he spoke.  Instead, she began to focus in on the small, silver cross she had in her hands and had been playing with since coming to her room.  Her mother's cross, the one she had given her to let her know she would always be with her.  Dylan was finding that she really didn't want Buffy to be with her anymore.  Not after what she did.

Sebastian stood there for a few more minutes in silence, just watching her.  She was so sad, so quiet, so…broken.  

This was entirely his fault.  He knew what Grandfather had planned, but he had done nothing to stop it.  He had hoped that it wouldn't have to come to this, that Dylan wouldn't have been as stubborn as he had been.  That she wouldn't have to go through the same thing he had.  But she had been, and he knew her guilt and pain was just starting.  At least she had something he didn't when it happened to him.  She had him.

"I'll help you pack if you want," he offered.

She sighed as she took one last look at the cross necklace, then put it on the small night stand next to her bed.  "I don't want anything," she told him before laying her leg down and turning her head away from him.  "Just come get me when we leave."

The boy frowned even deeper as he took one last look at her, then did as she asked.

**********


	5. Ms Baron

_Part 5:  Ms. Baron_

_She walked down the upstairs hallway of her home, the carpet feeling soft against her bare feet.  It was cool that afternoon, thanks to the air-conditioning that was blowing down from above her.  Warm light rained in from the window set behind her at the opposite end of the hall that she was traveling from; heating her bare skin on her arms and legs thanks to the shorts she was wearing.  Something told her that this was wrong; that she should go back and close the window blinds before her father got up, but she wouldn't.  They had to be open, but she didn't know why._

_A whimpering sound caught Dylan's attention as she passed the bathroom.  She glanced inside the room as she passed and saw __Willow__ there.  The red-headed woman was pressed against the tub, like she was trying to use it to help her stand but wasn't able too.  The one-time witch groaned loudly as she fell against it again, and looked like she was actually going to give up this time.  _

_Dylan kept walking._

_As she passed the door to her Aunt Dawn's old room, she found it too was opened.  She peered in, but saw that it was no longer a bedroom.  Instead, she saw the lobby of the Hyperion.  Angel, Cordy, and Gunn had their backs to her, and were considering someone or something that was hidden from her sight._

_"Yo, with an appetite like that, she looks like your boy's honey," Gunn said in regards to whoever they were looking at._

_Dylan made a face, but continued to walk._

_She finally stopped when she reached her grandmother's bedroom door, and just looked at it for a long moment.  There was a mark carved into it, one that she had never seen before.  It looked sort of like a crescent moon turned upside down with a strange looking eye under it.  It looked familiar somehow, but she paid it little mind as she reached up to open the door._

_A large, dark hand grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away before she could.  She turned her head and found an African man was the one holding her.  He was dressed in some strange, ceremonial robes, and held a staff in his free hand that stood nearly as tall as him.  Behind him, stood two other men, dressed much the same way and with the same even looks on their faces._

_Though he spoke in a language Dylan had never heard before, she understood every word he said.  "Do not release him."_

The girl drew in a sharp breath as she came back to consciousness and found herself riding safely in the back of a car.  She pulled her face away from the fist it had been leaning on as she slept, and blinked a couple of times as she tried to remember exactly where she was.  Outside the car, people were walking along the busy sidewalk, talking and laughing with each other as they enjoyed the mild spring night in New York.

They had been back in the Big Apple for the past month, coming there shortly after that awful night back in St. Petersburg.  Grandfather had thought it best that they distance themselves as much as they could from that city for awhile, which suited Dylan just fine.  In fact, if they never went back there, it would be just dandy with her.  

She knew, however, that they would not be staying in New York much longer.  They had been there too long already, so she was ready to pick up and leave any day now.  Move onto some place new and different, where they didn't know her or what she had done.  It used to be that she hated all the moving.  Now, however, she was grateful for it.

From her side, Sebastian was looking at her oddly, like he knew there was something wrong.  Over the past several weeks, they had actually become rather good friends.  They still didn't talk much because, well, that wasn't Bastian's thing; but they would just hang and let the other know they were there.  It was nice having him around, especially after everything that had happened.  

He had been the one to tell her that the trick was to try and not think about what she had done.  Think of something else, something she liked.  It helped some; at least she wasn't crying herself to sleep every night anymore.

Leaning a little closer to her, he whispered lowly, "You okay?"

She nodded, which drew the attention of Grandfather from the far end of the backseat.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice sounding rather cool like it always seemed to these days.

Again, Dylan nodded and answered, "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said, turning his attention forward again to the driver.  Lifting his cane, he gently tapped the front seat to get the man's attention, then ordered, "Pull over here."

He briskly replied, "Yes, sir."

When the car was safely off the road, Dylan opened her door, and both she and Sebastian got out.  Grandfather stayed in his seat, and told the children, "I'll send the car to come and pick you up after you do your sweep.  I have some other business to attend to, so I will be waiting back at the apartment when you arrive for a full report.  Is that understood?"

"Yes, Grandfather," they answered in unison.

********** 

Her pumps made a soft squishing sound as she walked down the hall on the cheap carpet and towards the elevator doors.  The only people there that late were the cleaning crew, and they were currently cleaning the section of the floor that was covered with a maze of cubicles.  They all knew her by name because she was generally the first to arrive and the last to leave.  

All the other secretaries didn't like the work initiative that she had, but she could really care less.  She was the best at what she did, and she planned to stay that way.  Besides, the man she worked for was the head of the company, and he deserved a girl who would work just as hard as him.  If the others didn't like that, well, they could go to hell.

She rode the elevator to the lobby in silence.  It didn't stop on a single floor on its way down, just like she thought it wouldn't, and the door slid opened easily once it reached her desired floor.  

She walked towards the large glass doors that lead out to the busy street.  As she passed the security desk, Jack and Craig, the two night watchmen, sat up in their swivel chairs to make it look like they hadn't been goofing off as usual.  Jack's boots slammed hard against the floor, echoing in the large, empty lobby, and Craig smiled widely at the middle-aged woman.

"Working late again, Ms. Baron?" Craig asked through the grin, a pair of crow's feet appearing on the corners of his eyes.

"When am I not?" she asked, her British accent sounding strange even to her own ears since she had become accustomed to the American ones, particularly the New York and Jersey accents.

"Was kinda a dumb question, huh?" Jack laughed, his distinctly New Jersey accent sounding harsh to her, as he stood up and followed her to the doors.  He fumbled with his keys for a moment before finding the right one and opening the door for her.  "See you tomorrow, Ms. Baron."

"Good night, Jack," she smiled before calling over her shoulder like an afterthought, "Good night, Craig."

"Night, Ms. Baron," the Italian man called to her before going back to the monitors in front of him.

As she stepped out into the cool, early spring New York night, she heard the door's lock click shut again.  Pulling her jacket a little tighter around her body, she glanced around to see if a taxi was nearby when she heard someone say, "Lindsey?"

  


The middle-aged woman turned towards the voice and found a man standing off to the side of the building's entrance.  He was a little older than she, with hair that was a mixture of gray and brown.  His face was covered with a pair of wire-rim glasses that were reflecting the lights that hung over their heads.  There was something familiar about him, and, though her instinct was telling her that she shouldn't talk to a stranger on the street like this, something else was telling her that it would be all right.

"Yes?" she said.

A small smile broke out onto his face as he came closer to her, extending his hand to her.  "Ah, I'm glad I caught you."

She took his hand limply and cautiously.  "I'm sorry," Lindsey finally said.  "Do I know you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I suppose it has been awhile," he said, his British accent sounding warm and familiar.  "I am Rupert Giles.  I believe we use to work for the same...organization."

The woman pulled her hand away from his like it was on fire.  "You're a watcher," she stated firmly.

Giles grinned sloppily at her.  "Well, er, um, I was.  A long time ago."

"I have nothing to say to you.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have a cat at home that needs attending to," she turned back towards the street, but found another, younger man standing there next to a young blonde woman. Lindsey took a step back for the couple and glanced over her shoulder at Giles.  They basically had her boxed in, or as boxed in as three people can.  "What do you want?" she bit coolly, showing no signs of intimidation.

"Travers," the blonde woman said.  "You used to work for him."  It wasn't a question, but a firm statement. Lindsey could see the disapproval in the girl's face at the knowledge.

"That's hardly a secret, my dear," she told the blonde.  Briefly turning her eyes towards Giles, the middle-aged woman said, "Everyone in the Council knew who I worked for."

"You worked for him right up until he retired," the blonde continued to state.  "So, I take it you knew everything going on in the office."

"I suppose.  Yes."

"Then I take it you might remember me."  The blonde extended her hand to Lindsey and said, "I'm Buffy Summers."

Buffy watched as something flashed through Lindsey's eyes at the name.  Whether it was guilt or uneasiness she wasn't sure; but she definitely recognized the name.  The woman bit down on her lip for a moment and drew in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she said in a controlled tone.  "I do not recognize the name."

  


"Oh, really.  Well, how about my daughter, Dylan?  Do you recognize her name?  Or did Travers just call her 'the Angel'?"  Buffy took a step towards Lindsey, her eyes narrowing in on her.  "Or maybe you'll remember this name.  Dr. Lang?  Does that ring a bell?"

"Ms. Baron," a voice called out from behind the group.  They looked up to see Craig standing there, his hand resting near his side where his gun was holstered.  A worried and suspicious look was on his face as he studied the scene before him.  "Is everything all right?"

Lindsey opened her mouth slightly and drew in a small breath as if she were going to answer.  Instead she shoved her purse into Buffy's grasp, throwing the slayer off balance before the secretary took off in the opposite direction from the blonde.  Giles moved to catch Buffy as Spike took off after the runaway.

"Hey!" Craig called, but no one paid him any mind. 

Lindsey ran as fast as she could to get away from them.  As she turned the corner, her heeled shoes slipped a little on the sidewalk, nearly causing her to spill onto the hard ground.  Her hand touched the concrete, pushed her upward, and she began to run again before she crashed into a man who was apparently waiting for her.

He was the young, with slightly wild dark hair that was falling around his face.  There was something cold in his eyes as he stared down at the woman that he held by the upper arms, and the look he gave her sent a chill down her spine.

The other man rounded the corner; Ms. Summers and Mr. Giles following close behind, and found that she had been recaptured.

"This her?" her capture asked coolly.

Giles nodded slightly, walking up to them.  "Yes, Connor.  This is Ms. Lindsey Baron."

Lindsey jerked at her arms, and the boy released her after a moment.  She turned back to Giles, a scolding look on her face that was reflected on his.

"I believe we have things to discus, Lindsey," the ex-watcher stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Frowning, the secretary sighed and dropped her shoulders in defeat.

**********

He sat in the back seat of the car, watching the little exchange that was going on on the sidewalk less than a block away from him.  A deep frown was etched on his face as his thumb ran over the cool, polished ivory panther head that rested on the top of his cane.

  


He should have known a shot to the stomach wouldn't have killed the slayer; at least not one as stubborn as Ms. Summers.  Sure, he had hoped it would have, but now he knew she was alive and running around New York City.  Damn all the luck.  

This was most regrettable.  Young Dylan was finally starting to see things as they should be, and now her mother was alive to muck it up all again.  And with the help of _his secretary no less!  Really, this was a most regrettable situation._

Travers raised his cane and tapped the front seat of the car gently, letting the driver known he was ready to leave.  As he drove by the group, he sighed, knowing there would be several loose ends that would need to be tied up before the night was over.

**********

They sat at a coffee shop down the street from the building where Lindsey worked.  Tonight, it was rather crowded, mainly with college students who had just spent the better part of their Saturday down at the Spielberg marathon they were having at the Richmont Theater a few blocks over.  There had been many days when Lindsey herself had stopped by this very place; mainly because they were the only people that she had found on this blasted continent who knew how to make a decent cup of tea.  This evening, however, she really wasn't enjoying it all that much.

Giles sat there, staring at the young woman he had seen so many times sitting outside Travers' office.  He had always thought of her as a sort of guard dog, as everyone else in the Council did.  No one got in to see Travers without going through Lindsey.  Once he discovered that she was in New York, he knew she would be the one to help them; especially considering that none of the other Watchers that he was still in contact with seemed to know anything about Dylan or Travers' activities.  

It hadn't surprised him.  Quentin never was one for sharing such things.  Hell, he had been stingy with his bourbon; the very idea that he would share the fact that he had created his own damphyr was down right laughable.  Both Willow and Fred had confirmed that the Council had no knowledge of the girl or her linage by hacking into their computer files.  Giles was glad for their lack of knowledge.  The less they knew about the girl, the better.

Connor had once again disappeared from the group, choosing to stand guard.  He had joined them after the St. Petersburg incident.  Catherine, who didn't have the slayer's healing ability, had to stay in the hospital a lot longer than Buffy did, and had suggested the boy take her place.  After all, he would be able to help them out more than she ever could in a fight, and that was apparently what this Travers person wanted.  And besides, with Buffy surely being sent home very soon, they were going to need someone like him.

Buffy sat across from the woman.  The blonde slayer was leaning forward towards the table.  Her elbows rested on her legs as she slouched over, half to show interest in what the woman was saying, the other to try and ease the nausea that had set in after smelling the fresh ground coffee that filled the cafe.  After being pregnant with Dylan, she had never been able to even look at noodles without having a disgusted feeling pass through her.  Looks like this one, it was going to be coffee.  Well, she should be real fun in the mornings from now on.

  


"I take it your friend must have gotten my message," Lindsey finally said, breaking the silence that had hung over the small group since their arrival.

"Huh?" the slayer asked, not knowing where that had come from or who she was talking about.

The secretary smiled almost coyly as she began to stir her tea with the plastic red stick they had given her at the counter.  "The werewolf," she clarified.  "The one in Tibet."

Buffy blinked.  "You sent Oz that e-mail."

With a small shrug, Lindsey pulled the small stick out of her tea then brought the cup up to her lips.  After taking a sip, she said, "That demon was too dangerous to handle, especially in that witch's body."

"Why didn't you warn one of us?!" the slayer demanded.  "Giles?  Or me? Any of us?!"

Lindsey made a face at the young woman who sat across from her and placed her tea cup gently on the saucer.  "Ms. Summers, I was lucky to warn your friend-Oz?-at all.  If I would have tried to contact any of you directly, Mr. Travers would have surely found out and done something to myself or my family.  I couldn't take such a risk, no matter how much I would have liked too."  She sat back in her chair and frowned deeply as she looked at the drink.  "He went too far with this whole blasted thing."

"You knew what was goin' on the whole time.  Didn't you?" Spike accused, his face hard as he stared at the woman beside him.

"I know more than you can imagine.  But that doesn't mean I will tell you anything."

"Oh, I think you will," the vampire said coldly, his eyes flashing a dangerous yellow color for a moment.

Lindsey just chuckled softly to herself.  "You think I'm afraid of you?  When he now has both of _them_?!  I think not."

For a second time that night, Buffy blinked from surprise.  "Both of them?" she repeated.

As if suddenly realizing what she had just said, Lindsey bit down on her lip for second then backtracked.  "I meant the both them, the Angel and Mr. Travers."

"No, I don't think that's what you meant at all.  You were talking about that boy, aren't you?"  Buffy asked.

"What boy?" the secretary asked.  However she didn't sound very convincing that she knew nothing about him.

  


"The one that's running around with Travers and my daughter," the slayer clarified, causing the woman's face to drop a few shades of white.  "Who is he?  What's he got to do with this?"

A stiff silence passed over the table.  In the background, a young woman laughed brightly at an unheard joke.  From behind the counter, the cash register was slammed shut after a sale, and the cappuccino machine made a swishing sound as it prepared another drink.  At the table, the four adults remained silent while the woman being questioned debated inwardly whether to tell them or not.

"I believed she asked you a question," Spike said smoothly after a moment.

Buffy watched as Lindsey's dilemma played on her face.  She looked as if she really did want to tell her what she knew, that she really wasn't as cold as pretend to be. But there was also a fear in her eyes; one that held the woman's tongue.  Letting her own aggravation and anger towards this woman who had helped Travers for so long go, Buffy decided to let her see what she really looked like: a frightened, worried mother who only wanted her child back.  

"Please," the slayer said weakly.  "I just want my daughter back.  And you can help me.  I need you to help me."

The proper British woman's cool demeanor faltered momentarily at seeing the strong woman who sat across from her become so…human.  All those years she had spent in the Council's office, she had been able to read everything she wished on the slayers from the papers and memos that passed over her desk.  

There had been quite a few written on Ms. Summers, but Lindsey couldn't remember a single one that had ever mentioned that the girl wasn't up to the challenge befitting of a slayer.  And, from what the secretary had read, when she did face these challenges, she had always done so with confidence and hardly ever showed any signs of weakness and vulnerability.  Well, expect for that unfortunate incident with Angelus.  But, placing herself in the slayer's shoes, Lindsey could understand the circumstances.  Approve of and dismiss, never, but understand, yes.

However, now that strong and capable girl she had read about was sitting across from her, literally begging her for help.  If there was one thing Lindsey was sure of, it was that Ms. Summers wasn't the begging type, not from everything she had read about her and not from what she had seen earlier that night.  This was most definitely a last resort for her, and she was only doing it because she was the child's mother and did just want her back.  Lindsey supposed that if it were her child, she would do no different.

That still didn't change the fact that-"I can't tell you anything," she said, dropping her eyes from the slayer's and down to the cup of tea before her.   Her voice was soft and regretful as she added, "I'm sorry."

"Ms. Baron," Buffy said in a pleading voice.  When the woman refused to look up from the tea, the tone became even more desperate.  "Lindsey."

"Ms. Baron," Spike finally spoke up, his accent sounding harsh compared to hers.  

The middle-aged woman looked up at the young looking man who sat to one side of her.  She knew he wasn't young, not by any means, but it was hard to image that someone with that face was actually well over a century old.  There was just some air about him that seemed like he was more alive than most of the people there in the coffee house.  However, that night, when he was staring at her coldly, he did look as if he had seen more than his fare share of stubborn, tight-mouthed people in his day and he knew how to get them to talk.  

The secretary swallowed hard at the look, knowing very well that on any other occasion that neither the slayer nor Mr. Giles would let him do a thing to harm her.  However, it was concerning one of their own this time, and it was the slayer's child no less!  They would let him do what he had to to make her talk.  And since he was the girl's father, she knew that he would pull out all the stops and show her exactly why he had earned his nick-name Spike.

"You don't understand.  He'll kill me," Lindsey pleaded to him, trying to sway Spike or the others from the idea of 'any means necessary' to get the information.  She turned away from the vampire and over to Giles.  "He's done it before."

"We won't let anything happen to you for giving us what we need," the ex-Watcher tried to reassure her.  "I swear we won't."

A humorless, almost frightened snort was her reply as she shook her head.  "You can't guarantee that, Mr. Giles.  And the only way I know that I will stay alive is by keeping my mouth shut."  She turned back to Buffy, that same sad and apologetic look resting on her face.  "No matter how much I would like to help, I simply cannot."

"Don't you mean won't?" the slayer bit back, her anger returning.

Lindsey drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out.  "Yes, I do."

The slayer's eyes were cold as she stared at her, trying to think of anything that might make the woman talk to them.  Even Spike's threatening growl from next to her wasn't intimidating the woman as much as it should.  Buffy really had no idea what she could do or say to this woman that would make her tell them anything of use.  All they knew now for sure was that Lindsey did in fact know something, probably everything.  They also knew that at some point, Travers had killed because of it.  

As they sat there, staring at one another, a thought struck Buffy.  "Ms. Baron, how would Travers even know if you told us anything?  Do you still report to him or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lindsey bit back at the statement.  "Of course I don't.  I haven't seen or spoken to Mr. Travers in years."

"Then how would he know if you told us anything?" Buffy asked carefully.

Not quite following where she was going with this, the secretary answered, "I know he still watches me.  Has tabs on me somehow.  Why?"

Buffy glanced over at Spike and saw he had caught onto what she was getting at.  With a nod, he continued for her.  "I think what the slayer is tryin' to say is that Travers probably already knows you're talkin' to us.  And since you're not exactly on speakin' terms with him, he's probably assumed that you've already told us everything."

Horror flashed over the secretary's face at the revelation.  How would Travers know that she hadn't told them anything?  From what she recalled, he wasn't really one to let someone try and explain themselves.  And if he did, he generally didn't believe them.  

"Way I see it, Ms. Baron," Buffy went on, leaning back in her own chair.  "You can go ahead and help us and we'll do our best to keep Travers from harming you; or you tell us nothing and you can deal with him on your own."

Lindsey sat that for a moment, staring at the slayer across from her.  She could easily see that the blonde had ever intention of just leaving her there, or at least looked as if she did.  And the secretary knew they were right.  Travers probably did already know she had spoken to them and would just assume that she had revealed everything.  Any way she went, Lindsey knew she was, as her current boss would say, completely screwed.  But at least if she helped Ms. Summers, she still stood a chance of perhaps making it through all this.  And to think she was excited all those years ago when she became Mr. Travers' own personal secretary.

With a deep sigh and slumped shoulders, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

Around her, the group exchanged a hopeful look before Buffy said, "Everything."

**********


	6. His Story

AN: Hi there.  Okay, I know it's been awhile since I updated, so I decided I go ahead and give you guys two chapters this time instead of just the one. Hopefully *fingers crossed* the next part will come out sooner than this last one.  

Also, I wanted to say thank you to whoever nominated this series over at the Spuffy Awards. *hehe* 

And one last thing before I go, I have a slight warning about this chapter, it will allude to a rape.  It doesn't go into detail or anything, but it's there none the less, just to let you guys know.

**********

_Part 6: His Story_

Jonah walked through the park, pushing the cart that held every one of his belongings silently through the night as he searched for a trash can he hadn't gone through once already.  He had to get to them before the garbage collectors came in the morning and took away his only source of income now.  

A humorless snort passed through his nose as he thought back to a time when he would pass men on the street like himself, stick up his nose at them, and hurry off to whatever business meeting he was surely late for.  He never had time to bother with them, or enough human compassion to take pity on one of them and drop a few dollars into their hands.  The only time he ever bothered with them would be when they were standing too close to his car or would get up in his face to beg for his change, and then they were just met with annoyance.  Funny how just a few years, a down-sizing, a divorce, and some not-so-pleasant brushes with the law, and he ended up just like them.  Karma really could be a bitch.

After picking through one of the trash cans and finding nothing of use to him, he sat down on the park bench next to it, stared up at the dim street light overhead, and sighed.  This really wasn't how he pictured his life would turn out.  He didn't spend years and years working to end up living in a park.  But fate could be cruel sometimes, and the streets that he now called home even crueler.

One learned fast the type of people to avoid, especially those of the nocturnal and demonic kind.  Jonah could still remember the first time one of his new 'friends' had warned him that a cross and some Holy Water from one of the Catholic churches were just as important as a warm blanket and knowing what streets were good or bad.  He had laughed in that man's face for believing in such superstitious nonsense.  And then Jonah was attacked by his very first vampire.  The one time businessman had gotten away thanks to the man who had warned him in the first place, but he still had the scar on his neck to remind him to never forget his cross or some Holy Water or the crude stake he had made out of a board from an old moving create.  

The man's ears perked up when he heard the sound of someone running coming towards him and he quickly scrambled for a place to hide.  If it was the cops, they would probably have him arrested or, at the very least, tell him to get out.  But usually the cops were on the other side of the park this time of night, so the only other people Jonah could think of would be either a) a drug dealer, b) some gang member, or c) the guys with the really sharp, pointed teeth.  Any which way it went, Jonah didn't like it.

The man went around behind the bench and crouched down low to the ground to where he was peering through the small spaces between the boards.  As one his hands steadied him by holding onto the bench, the other rested near his trench coat pocket that held both the cross and a small switch blade he had found a couple of years ago.  Of course, his main defense was to high tail it out of there as fast as his legs could carry him, but these were his backups.

Jonah watched as an African-American man rounded the corner and came into the light that shown from overhead.  He took a few steps into the light, turned to look behind him, and fell into a fighting stance as if he expected to be attacked at any moment from anywhere.  To Jonah, he looked rather ridiculous standing there, his fist raised as his baggy clothes hung loose on his thin body, waiting for whoever had been after him to pounce.  Repressing a sigh, Jonah moved his hand away from his pocket to hold onto the bench better.  Really, why couldn't these stupid gang members find better ways of torturing their enemies than by chasing them down in the park to beat the-?

A childish giggle filled the air, drawing Jonah's attention away from the man that stood before him.  It was a strange sound, not one that someone would expect to hear this time of night at this place.  And there was something else to it.  Something the middle-aged man couldn't place his finger on.  Something that made it almost sound…like whoever was laughing was having fun.  

The wannabe gang member heard it too, and growled at the sound as he began to scan the shadowy area around them.  On the other side of the brush, the lake sparked with the reflection of the buildings that towered around the park.  A small wind blew up some paper and dust that had been resting quietly on the walkway the man stood on.  And Jonah suddenly became very aware that his heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he picked up the mood that this definitely wasn't right.

The man suddenly pivoted on his feet towards Jonah's cart that had gone unnoticed until then; his once normal looking face now rigid, lumpy, and baring a set of burning yellow eyes.  Jonah turned the best he could to see what had the vampire's attention and was surprised to find a young boy standing beside his cart, causally leaning up against it with his arms crossed.  The kid couldn't have been over ten, maybe eleven, but was showing no fear whatsoever of the creature of the night before him.  In fact, the boy seemed almost bored with him.

The vamp growled at the kid and bent down low to the ground, like he was about to pounce.  The kid, however, didn't blink.  

"Not the one that you should be worried about," the boy said, nudging his chin towards the vamp's direction.

Both Jonah and the creature turned to see what the kid had meant, and found a small girl standing directly behind the vampire.  She was even younger than the boy, with long, curly blond hair that was pulled back into a pony tail.  She held her arms behind her, like children often do when meeting someone new, and a large, childish smile rested on her face.

"Hi," the girl said in bubbly tone.  "I'm Dylan.  Wanna play?"

In a second, the vamp seemed to fly off the ground and go after the child.  

Jonah didn't know what it was that made him yell for the girl.  Maybe it was the fact this was a small child that should be defenseless in such a situation, and he was a grown-up and felt the need to protect her.  Or maybe it was the fact that she kind of reminded him of his niece from way back when he was still part of society.  Or maybe it was the fact that he was a complete idiot who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.  Whatever it was, he surely didn't expect to see what he did.

The small girl, who was as calm as the boy who was still watching quietly, stood there until the vampire was right upon her.  Then, with a quickness Jonah had never seen before, she spun on the ball of her foot so the vamp was right where her body had been, but she was now beside him as he leaned forward.  She then stuck out her foot as the vampire stumbled from missing his mark and sent him to the ground hard.  When his body hit the pavement, her arms swung out from behind her to reveal the stake she had hidden there, and she sent it crashing down into the vampire's back.  His whole body jerked upwards for a second as he yelped in surprised then turned to dust.

The whole thing had last less than ten seconds, and Jonah was left standing behind the park bench gapping at the girl. She tucked the stake away and then brushed her hands together like they were dirty, as the young boy began to walk towards her.

"Oh, that was cute," he said, keeping his arms crossed, but smiling at the same time.  He then raised an eyebrow and repeated, "'Wanna play?'"

Dylan shrugged slightly.  "You know me.  Besides, not all of us can be 'kill vampire, kill vampire, make no sound for three days, kill vampire.'"

"What can I say?  I'm a simple man," the boy answered, sounding half serious and half joking at the same time.  His tone then turned completely serious.  "Just don't let Grandfather catch you doing that.  You know how he feels about us speaking to them."

The girl's good mood deflated the instant he mentioned the man.  "Yeah, I know," she responded solemnly.  They then turned and began to walk away.

Jonah stood there, continuing to gaze at the children until they disappeared around the corner and left him behind in the light.  When they were out of sight, the one time businessman looked at the spot the vampire had been, back up to where the kids had gone, and then to where the vamp had been.  The guys were never going to believe this.

**********

Lindsey gave a dry laugh as she began to stir her cup of tea once more.  "Everything?  You do realize that is a lot of ground to cover.  Don't you, Ms. Summers?"

"We've got the time," Buffy answered.  A thought crossed her mind so she clarified, "The boy.  Who is he?"

"I think the better question would be 'what'," Lindsey corrected with a sigh, taking the red stick out of the cup once more before bringing the drink to her lips.

"He's like Dylan.  Isn't he?" Spike spoke up, keeping his eyes on the woman that sat just to the right of him.  "A damphyr?"

The secretary raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk playing on her lips to let him know he was right.  Blinking from the information, Buffy began to stutter out, "What?  How?  When?  Who?"

Lindsey laughed softly at her before saying, "His name is Sebastian and he's ten."  Her face fell after that, and she became interested in staring at her coffee once more.  "He's the first."

The three stared at the woman, listening carefully to what she had to say about the young boy.  With a sigh, Lindsey continued.  

"It started a little over ten years ago," she looked up at Buffy and stated, "right after you arrived in Sunnydale.  I do not know if Mr. Giles ever told you about his training, but, when a Watcher is nearing completion of his schooling, he must spend a certain amount of time in the archives translating ancient text from several different languages, both human and demonic."

Buffy glanced over to Giles, who had a strange look that was a cross between fondness and gratitude that that was over with.  "Yes," he added.  "I do remember that.  Tediously boring work."

"If Rupes is bored, we can imagine," Spike added, earning a glare from Giles.

"Yes, well, the texts that they are given are not meant to have anything important on them.  They are mostly scrolls that have been translated a thousand times before, but it is supposed to give them practice for later on."

"Those bloody things had already been translated?!" Giles exclaimed, horrified by the information.

Ignoring him, and the twin smiles that rested on the slayer and vampire's faces, Lindsey continued.  "That year, however, the Council came into possession of some news scrolls.  Instead of having fully registered Watchers translate them; Mr. Travers gave the job over to one of the students.  He did not think that there was anything important about them, but the young man returned with a translation that mimicked one from the Codex that, at the time, Mr. Giles had just come into possession of."

"That passage about the angel," Giles supplied, earning a nod from the secretary.

"Yes, that's the one."  She adjusted in her chair to make herself more comfortable; the secretary reached over onto the table and began to play with the red stirring stick, turning it between her fingers.  A humorless chuckled escaped from within her throat as she said, "Any other time, the text would have been completely dismissed as being mistranslated or a false prophecy.  But there was a woman, a geneticist.  She was working for the Council at that time, and because of her research, Mr. Travers didn't find the prophecy so laughable anymore."

"Lang," Buffy answered, venom dripping from the word as if it was some sort of ancient curse.

Lindsey, however, simply shook her head.  "No.  Her predecessor.  A woman named Cassandra Miller.

"Dr. Miller had done research for the Council on demon genetics, trying to discover a way to possible use it to the advantage of the slayer.  She had break through discoveries, namely that there are latent genes in slayer DNA that are strikingly similar to those of certain demons.  She was studying these matching DNA, trying to see if, perhaps, one day she would be able to activate it somehow and give the slayer the abilities that these demons possess."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Buffy said, holding up her hands, trying to understand what she had just been told.  "Are you saying that I have demon DNA in me?"

Blinking, Lindsey answered, "Not exactly.  It's similar DNA.  Most remain dormant indefinitely, but some are activated and that's what gives you your slayer strength and endurance."  She glanced over at Giles and said, "I thought she knew this."

"This is not something we go around advertising, Ms. Baron," he answered in a warning tone as Buffy stared at him in disbelief.  

Giles knew and didn't tell her?!  How could he not tell her?!  This was huge!  This was colossal news to her!  And, what?  He just forgot to mention it? 

Nervously, the watcher glanced over to the young woman sitting at his side that was staring at him.  He offered her a weak smile, but it did little ease the shock of finding out like this.  When he saw it didn't work, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Lindsey, gently reminding Buffy what exactly they were doing there.  The slayer gave him one last look, then turned back to the secretary also; but if Giles thought this was the end of this, he was sadly mistaken.

"Please continue, Lindsey," Giles encouraged.

"Yes, well, um," she said, shifting in her seat again.  "Dr. Miller's program had always been a controversy in the Council, so, when Mr. Travers finally did discontinue it, the news came as no surprise.  However, Dr. Miller's services were not terminated, just…rerouted.  Instead of working for the Council, Mr. Travers hired her for his own personal experiments; namely for her to try and prove that the prophecy could actually come to pass and that damphyrs really could exist.

"Since it would not be possible to bring in an actual slayer at the time, even though there were two of you, Mr. Travers contacted the watcher he felt had the SIT with the greatest potential."

"SIT?" Buffy repeated.  God, at this rate, they'd never get through this.

"Slayer In Training," Spike answered.  No one at the table questioned how he knew that, not even the secretary.

Clearing her throat, she went on, "Yes.  The potential he called for was a young girl from New York.  She was only fourteen at the time, but she definitely showed the signs that she could very well be called should anything happen to Ms. Kendra.  Of course, we did not know of Ms. Faith, but that is beside the point.  The girl's name was Kennedy O'Connell.

 "Ms. Kennedy was put through some rigorous test, but she proved healthy enough.  And she was quiet smart as well, and very loyal to the Council and the teachings her watcher was instilling in her. She never once questioned why she was there or what Dr. Miller was doing.  Poor girl should have.

"It took a bit longer to find a suitable male.  While access to vampire DNA is fairly easy to come by for the Council, what was needed is not.  And even if Ms. Kennedy and a vampire were put under the same lust spell that you two were, it was fairly certain that she would be killed during the, um…"

An awkward silence passed as Lindsey looked around from person to person at the table.  It was obvious she was raised not to discuss such things openly, and even Giles had a slight tint to his cheeks.

"Yes, um, continue," Giles pushed, hoping to get on with the story.

"As I said, it took longer to find a male, but it was finally Dr. Miller who was able to obtain one that would not be able to harm Ms. Kennedy during the act; or, at least, not that much.  She contacted her old mentor, a woman who developed the technology that hindered you from harming humans," Lindsey said, glancing over at Spike.

Buffy's eyes widened. "Wait.  Maggie Walsh was in on this?  God, who else was part of this whole conspiracy?  British Intelligence?  The KGB?  Santa Clause?!"

Ms. Baron blinked from the slayer's outburst, then said, "I'm not sure what you mean, Ms. Summers, but I do know that Dr. Walsh, and Dr. Walsh alone, was contacted about sending a chipped male; preferably one that was a master and more than a hundred years old.  She sent the one she had at the time, and promised to send the names of anymore later on should one be needed, as long as Dr. Miller kept her updated about the progress of her research.  Apparently she had her own agenda as well."

"You can say that again," the slayer muttered under her breath.  "So, Maggie sends you a nice, chipped vamp.  Then what happened?"

With a small shrug as if it should be obvious, Lindsey said, "The experiment.  Like with you, they waited until a time when Ms. Kennedy would be able to conceive a child and then they placed the spell over them."  The secretary became very quiet for a moment, as if the information she was able to share with them was weighing heavy on her.  "There was an unexpected development from the spell, though.  It seems that Ms. Kennedy did not exactly care for the opposite sex, but…"  There was a tense pause that passed over the table, all of them knowing what she was getting at but hoping they were wrong.  Finally, she said, "Mr. Travers let the experiment continue."

"Oh, God," Buffy said softly, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers.  From beside her, Giles looked even more disgusted, if that were at all possible, and Spike just looked angry.

With a small nod, she let them know that what they were assuming was true.  "Dr. Miller was horrified at this.  She had tried to stop it, but, of course, Mr. Travers wouldn't allow that.  I believe that she even tried to leave because of what happened, but that did not occur either.

"It wasn't long after that that they discovered that the experiment was a success, and Ms. Kennedy was indeed about to have the first documented damphyr.  The first thing Dr. Miller did after hearing the news was to have the vampire destroyed, and then put in to Mr. Travers that the child should be as well since the whole project was just supposed to see if one could actually be created.  He refused, and said that the project would not be deemed successful until the child was born so as he could be positive that there would be nothing wrong with one.  It wouldn't do to have the child come out with ridged forehead, yellow eyes, and fangs, now would it?"

Buffy glared momentarily at the woman that sat across from her, the slayer's hand slipping down beneath the table and placed over her stomach from her description of how the baby might look.  She knew better, of course.  After all, Dylan had been the prettiest child she had ever seen when she born; but still, she didn't like the way Ms. Baron had described a possible child.

"Ms. Kennedy didn't have it easy during her pregnancy," Lindsey went on, either not noticing Buffy's glare or ignoring it.  "It quickly became obvious there was something wrong, and more tests were conducted on the poor child.  It seems that there is a reason why there are not any of these children that have ever successfully been created.  Somehow, I'm not completely sure how, the child…feeds off the mother, and not like regular children do.  As they get closer to their due dates, the child is slowly killing the mother from the inside to allow it to be born.  It either kills both the mother and itself before it's able to be born, or has to be born prematurely to save its life at the cost of the mother's."

She looked up and saw Buffy's disbelieving face.

"I did not happen to you because you are the slayer, Ms. Summers.  You have the slayer ability to heal and regenerate; therefore your child did not harm you and continued on like it was a regular pregnancy.  Being the Chosen One actually saved your life in this case."  Lindsey dropped her eyes again to her cup that was nearly empty now.  "And not being chosen cost Ms. Kennedy hers.  Not long after she entered her eight month, she had a son, Sebastian.  She died a couple of days later.

"The boy was small and weak from being born early.  Mr. Travers didn't like this, but now knew what he needed to know, that one could be created and brought to full term.  So, he ordered that the child be terminated and that Dr. Miller prepare for you, Ms. Summers."

Buffy felt her anger continue to rise at everything she was being told.  After what Travers put that girl through, he was going to kill her child because it wasn't up to his standards?!  She was so going to enjoy killing him.

"Dr. Miller couldn't do it, however," Lindsey went on and then clarified, "kill the child.  Even though she knew how it came to be, she knew it was just a child and didn't have any control over that.  And she knew that he wouldn't always be small and weak.  He was just a primi, but he would grow.  So, late one night, she took him.  Walked right out of the building with him and was never seen again.

"Mr. Travers put some people on it, to try and find her; but his main concern was turned to trying to find a suitable replacement for Dr. Miller and preparing for you two.  I really thought that that would be the end of the whole horrid thing because I did not believe he would be able to find someone to replace Dr. Miller as quickly as he needed.  I was wrong, as you well know." 

She let out a puff of air that sounded like a cross between a snort and a sigh.  

"He didn't tell Dr. Lang about Dr. Miller or Sebastian or what she had done.  He was too afraid of a repeat of what happened, I suppose.  Of course, after meeting Dr. Lang, I do not believe that would have been a possibility.  

"After everything that happened with you and the demon and Mr. Travers' stroke, I retired and tried my best forget the whole mess.  Then, one day about two years ago, Dr. Miller contacted me out of the blue.  She was looking for Mr. Travers.  

"Apparently, after leaving with young Sebastian, she changed her name to Samantha and married some man in the United States military service.  They were raising Sebastian and had the boy believing that she was his mother's sister and she had left him to her to take care of.  As far as I know, her husband believed the same thing

"Then, two years ago, Sebastian went missing and they found out that Mr. Travers was the one responsible.  He had found them and found that the boy was most definitely worth keeping around.  I told them I didn't know anything, which is true enough.  I did not know anything more than Dr. Miller did, and that was the end of it.  A few days after that happened, someone sent me an e-mail with an article about Dr. Miller and her husband's 'mysterious' deaths in a car crash.  I got the message clear enough, and have never spoken of about these things to anyone…until now."

With a sympathetic smile, Giles reached over and barely touched Lindsey's arm.  "Don't worry.  We'll keep our promise to protect you."

The humorless snort from earlier returned.  "It doesn't matter if you try or not, Mr. Giles," she said solemnly, leaning back in her chair once again.

********** 

Sebastian knocked gently on the door and waited for the old man on the other side to answer.  Upon arriving home, Grandfather had requested that he speak with the boy alone after receiving their report on how they had done slaying wise that night.  He had been pleased with the numbers. Since Russia, Dylan's ability had greatly improved, but Bastian knew that it had more to do with the fact she was trying to take out some of her pain and guilt onto the bad guy.  He always knew she would do better if she got emotional, he just wished it didn't have to be over something like this.

"Enter," came the gruff reply as the boy turned the knob and let himself inside.

Grandfather was sitting behind his desk, reading over something and hardly paying the boy any mind until he was standing right before.

"You wanted to see me?" Sebastian asked properly, his arms behind his back and his feet spread as he stood at what his uncle had called parade rest.

Grandfather placed the file he had been reading onto his desk, rested his chin against his locked hands like he was about to say a prayer, and looked up at the boy across from him.  "I have a job for you."

**********


	7. Early Morning Hours

_Part 7: Early Morning Hours_

Buffy stood in front of the small suitcase that lay on her mother's bed.  Since arriving back in New York, they had simply taken up residence in her mother's apartment that she kept in the city for when she had to come out for business.  It was nice, in a good neighborhood, and was decorated in a way that it reminded the slayer of her home back in Sunnydale; but it still wasn't home.  But, then, home generally didn't feel like home anymore either; not without…

She sighed softly and continued to pack things away for her trip.  She was going back to Sunnydale tomorrow afternoon as part of her agreement with Spike had stipulated.  The deal was, she got to stay with them up until they found Ms. Baron in New York, find out what she knew, and then Buffy was on the first plan back to California to take care of herself until the baby was born.  

At the time, it had seemed like that she was fine with it, but, now that the time had come, part of her couldn't help but feel like she abandoning her daughter.  No matter what Spike or Giles or anyone said, it felt like she was giving up on Dylan by leaving, it didn't matter what the reason was.

She felt him standing behind her, probably leaning against the wall or in the doorway, watching her as she packed away her belongings to go home where it was safe.  That was a laugh.  Sunnydale was anything but safe, considering it was the hellmouth.  It's true that she would have been safer if they sent her some place else, like to Angel in Los Angeles or send her and one of the Scoobies to some place in the middle of nowhere where no one knew them or what they did; but, if she was being shipped off, she wanted to go home.  If nothing else so she could be with her mom and sister for this pregnancy so they wouldn't miss it like they had the last one.

"Giles said he'd take me to the airport tomorrow morning while Connor watches Lindsey," she told him, pushing angrily down on one of her blouses to make it fit in with the others.  "My flight leaves around noon, so I'll have to be there before nine for security checks."

"Alright," he said.  Spike watched as she grabbed another article of clothing and manhandled it.  Though he knew the answer, he asked, "You alright, love?"

"Besides finding out I'm part demon and giving up on my daughter?  Yeah, I'm just peachy," she shot back in that 'you idiot' tone.

"You are not a demon, Buffy," he told her firmly, walking up to her so he was now standing directly behind her.  When she didn't turn around to look at him, he reached around her and grabbed her wrist.  She didn't fight as he turned her to face him.  "And you're not givin' up on her.  You're just goin' where it's safe for awhile."

"Same thing," the blonde slayer said sadly, refusing to look up into his eyes.

"No, not the same thing."  

Reaching up, he gently touched the tip of her chin and pushed upward until she had no choice but to look at him.  

"You're not givin' up on her anymore than me or the Watcher or Brood Boy, Jr. are.  Bloody hell, woman, I don't want you to go anymore than you do, but this isn't about what we want.  It's about protectin' our own, love.  About us protectin' this one just as much as we want to protect the poppet.  You know that."

She did know, and she did want to protect it just as much as she did Dylan.  Yet, though she knew it was the right thing and had every intention of doing it, that didn't make her feel any better about the decision.  

Buffy sighed, dropping her gaze from his again.  

"Yeah," she said softly.  "I know."

********** 

Lindsey switched off the lights as she walked out of her apartment's tiny kitchen, a glass of water in hand and a frown on her face upon seeing her unwelcome guest.  She knew they were there to protect her, but if they hadn't come along in the first place she wouldn't be in this mess.  No, up until about five hours ago, she had been living a perfectly normal, quiet life with her past behind her.  Now she was once again thrown into the middle of a situation not of her doing and she could only pray that she would make it out alive.

The boy she had learned to be Connor sat at the opened window, watching the street in silence.  He had an even look on his face, and seemed to be focused on nothing at all.  She wasn't particularly fond of him.  There was just something about him that screamed at Lindsey that he would just as well kill her himself than stop Mr. Travers from doing so.  Probably because Mr. Giles told him what her part in this whole sorted affair was, but she wasn't about to ask the boy his opinion on her.  In fact, she was doing her best to ignore the fact that he was even there.

Mr. Giles sat on her couch; well, actually, it was closer to spread out on her couch.  The older English man looked as if he would fall asleep any second, causing Lindsey to snort.  This was supposed to be her great protection?  God, she might as well leave the front door open with a sign saying 'Kill Me.'

Shifting on her feet and fixing her own scolding look, Lindsey cleared her throat and waited for Mr. Giles to look up at her.  It was a few moments before he did so, and it took even longer for him to blink his vision clear to see her.

"I am about to retire for the evening," she informed him, sounding like a secretary who was telling their boss they were leaving for the night.  "The kitchen is through there, and the restroom is down the hall across from my bedroom.  Do try and keep things in order.  Good evening, Mr. Giles."  She glanced up to catch the boy's eye and added, "Connor."

Giles scrambled to sit up on the couch to look attentive, but she was already halfway down her short hall by that time.  "Good night," he started, but she slammed her door shut before he finished.  "Lindsey."

"Nice," Connor said coolly from his perch before turning back to the view.  

"She's always been like that," the Watcher said thoughtfully.  "Of course, I suppose anyone who worked for Quentin as long as she did would start to lack certain amounts of…"

"Courtesy?"

"Patience." 

Connor snorted at that.  The woman could give a yeti the chills. 

Giles shifted himself back into the comfortable position he had found earlier since it was obvious that he would be on the couch for the night.  He pulled his jacket a little higher on his chest to try and keep his arms warms.  As Dawn would say, talk about ungrateful.  They were there to protect this blasted woman, the least she could do was provide him with a blanket and pillow for the night.  Instead, the middle-aged man would just have to make due with what he had for the time being.

"Wake me in a few hours and we'll switch," he told the young man just as he closed his eyes to try and get some sleep.

Connor glanced over at him before he turned back to window.  When he heard Giles' snores a few minutes later, the young man thought it was a good thing that he didn't sleep much or this Lindsey woman would be in real trouble tonight.

********** 

From the street corner, Travers watched from the backseat of his car as the bedroom light went off.  Turning away from the window, he looked at the small group that sat with him in the vehicle, all waiting for their orders.  He nodded to the two men in the front seat, who returned the gesture before getting out.  Then the old man turned to the child seated next to him.

She looked like she really didn't want to do this, but at the same time was trying to hide the fact from him.  He smiled warmly down at her, which only put the young girl even more on edge.

"Just do as you are told, Dylan-dear," he said to her in a warm, yet almost threatening way.  Travers nodded to the two men who were waiting outside the car.  "They'll do the rest."

Swallowing hard, the girl did what she was ordered to do.

********** 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Buffy groaned slightly as she held onto the sides of the birdbath-like sink.  Her bare feet felt cold against the white tile floor and she shifted uncomfortably on them.  

The bathroom was designed to look like it had stepped right out of the nineteen twenties, right down to clawed bathtub with a shower curtain that could be pulled nearly all the way around it.  The former residents must have made it like this because she knew for a fact that her mother wouldn't have agreed to a bathroom design that didn't include a sink counter for all her stuff and a larger mirror than the medicine cabinet before her.

Buffy glanced up at her reflection and found that she indeed did look as bad as she felt.  God, she hated morning sickness.  And her kid was taking the phrase to heart, waking the slayer at the pleasant time of three o'clock in the morning.  She didn't remember being as sick with Dylan, but she was usually up and traveling somewhere at this time since she and Spike could generally only move at night and she may just not remember.  Still, she couldn't wait until it was over with.  Grabbing her toothbrush, she quickly cleaned the awful taste out of her mouth.

She looked up back up in the mirror before her and sighed.  Well, at least she looked a little bit better than a few moments ago.  Now all she needed was something to make that sickly green shade go away, and she would be all set.

The slayer opened the bathroom door and let the light flood into the dark bedroom she had been resting comfortably in earlier.  With his bare back to her, Spike was still sleeping as soundly as he had been when she left.  It was hard to believe that anyone could actually continue to sleep when she had literally jumped out of bed, charged towards the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and preceded to wretch until her stomach was empty again.  Yet, here he lay, just as peaceful as could be.  Well, at least she finally knew where Dylan got it from.  

As Buffy reached up to turn off the bathroom light, something caught her eye.  She froze for a moment, and tried to focus in on the form resting comfortably in a chair that sat in the dark, far corner of the room.  It didn't move for several seconds, and neither did she.  Every warning was going off in her body, telling her that she indeed was not imagining that something was there watching her.  

"I know you're there," she said to the shadow, her fist curling up into a tight ball for just in case she had to fight.

In response, the form reached over to the lamp that sat on a small table next to the chair and turned it on.  

"Soddin' hell?" came a groggy voice.

The added light brightened the whole room up enough to finally wake Spike from his sleep.  He gave a groggy groan as he slowly sat up in bed to see what going on.  His senses snapped back to him when he saw the young figure sitting in the chair.  An instant later Spike was on his feet standing in front of Buffy, his sleep completely forgotten.

The blonde slayer gave him a look from behind.  Yeah, wasn't he her great protector; considering he would have slept through the whole thing had the kid not turned on the light.  Shaking her head slightly, she turned her attention back to the silent boy.

He was young, maybe a little older than Dylan, but he also had that 'I'm a kid but not' thing about him just like her daughter did.  His dark hair fell slightly around his face as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, like he was waiting for the two adults to address him.  _Speak only when spoken to, crossed Buffy's mind as she looked at him and realized exactly who he was.  The boy from the club, the one that helped her daughter and they had learned about from Lindsey, "Sebastian."_

A small smile passed on the boy lips, almost as if to say 'So you've heard of me.'  It quickly faded though, and he went back to the even look that reminded her a bit too much of a younger Connor.  

"What the bloody hell are you doin' here?" Spike bit coldly.

Sebastian gave a small shrug like the answer should have been obvious to them.  "I was supposed to kill you."

********** 

Connor hadn't moved from his perch, his head resting against the frame of the window as he continued to stare blankly out of it.  He had hoped that this woman would have helped as much as Giles had said she would, but she had only ended up being more of a burden to them than anything.

What had she really told them anyway?  That there's another kid like Dylan?  What was so big about that?  Buffy was going to have another one just like her soon anyway, so he couldn't understand why the fact that there is one that is older than Dylan was such a big deal.

Well, maybe he could, if the kid had been trained like him.  Connor had already earned his nickname, the Destroyer, by the time he was that kid's age.  Of course, Connor had been in Quortoth, a nasty hell dimension, so it had been kill or be killed.  One had to be tough to grow up there.  

He was also pretty sure that this guy, Travers, couldn't be as bad as his father had been.  No, he couldn't be.  Connor wouldn't let himself think that Dylan, a girl who was like his own little sister, would have to go through such a hell as that, no matter what the others said.  

A chilled breeze blew in from the cracked window, bringing a familiar scent.  The young man's back stiffened slightly, his eyes wide as he took several deep breaths to make sure that he was not mistaken.  No, he couldn't be wrong. He knew her scent as well as he knew Dawn's or Cordelia's or his father's; that strange combination of honey, Coke, and dirt from a rough day of play.  The scent of innocence, the scent of a child.  The way the smells intermingled together told him that it was her; told him that Dylan was indeed nearby.

The miracle child leaned forward into the window, peering down into the dark streets below.  He half expected to see her standing there, looking up at him from the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets and that annoyed look on her face that Dawn had taught her. But her form was nowhere to be found from where he sat, but her scent was still strong in the wind.  She was nearby, no more than a block or two away.  

Connor glanced over towards the couch at the sleeping Giles.  The ex-Watcher snorted slightly in his slumber, then adjusted his position to insure that the noise would not repeat so not to wake himself up.  Part of him knew that he should wake Giles and tell him before heading out to find her, but the older man would have questions that he didn't have time to answer.  After all, ever second that he sat here meant she could be getting further and further away.  Besides, he shouldn't be gone long, and Giles and that Lindsey woman should be alright until then.

Pushing the window open further, Connor made his choice and disappeared in search of the lost little girl.

********** 

The boy sat at the counter quietly, watching the man that stood on the other side in the small kitchen that was staring directly back at him.  It wasn't a murderous glare as Sebastian had expected, but it definitely expressed the vampire's intent that he would do anything to protect the woman standing at the sink behind him.  Not that he had really expected anything less.

Sebastian's own face and eyes were nearly unreadable.  By Spike's own musings of the child, he would say that kid had probably been taught from an early age how to hide what he was thinking from adults or anyone else observing him.  That look was so void of any sort of emotion or thought that the vampire knew that he must have been shown how to do so far sooner than when Travers had snatched him up two years ago.  That Cassandra or Sam or whatever-the-hell-her-name-was woman must have shown him how, probably to keep him from accidentally spilling anything to her husband or anyone else.

The brown-haired boy dropped his gaze from the staring contest that he and Spike had been holding, instead choosing to watch the woman behind him.  Once the glass she held was filled with water, she reached over and turned off the running liquid before turning back towards the two men.  She placed the beverage in front of the child, a tight frown on her face, as she watched him lift it and take a drink.

"You really should be more careful," Sebastian said into the glass, making the words sound muffled.

"Yeah, we'll have the locks changed tomorrow," Spike bit coolly at the boy.

"Not that."  He nodded towards the slayer.  "She's starting to show."

Buffy glanced down at her midsection, taking note that the child was right.  Generally, she was very careful, wearing baggier clothes to hide her rounded stomach.  That night, however, she had simple grabbed Spike shirt off the floor and pulled it on, and it was now pulling to show off her changing appearance.

Wrapping her arms around it, she asked, "Travers know?"

With a shake of his head, Bastian answered, "Not that I know of.  But he probably will soon enough."

"You?" Spike asked.

"Or some demon.  Any way you go, you know that you can't keep it a secret for too long.  At least not from someone like Grandfather…"  For the first time that night, the two adults saw the boy flinch.  "I mean Travers."

Buffy studied him for a long moment.  He said the ex-Head of the Council's name with a much distain as she or Spike or any of the Scoobies did, but there was more to it.  Something in the way he spoke also told her he was trapped by it.  Travers held something over him, something bad, and he now felt compelled to do the old man's bidding.  A chill traveled up her spine as she thought that perhaps Travers now had that same power over her own child.

"What are you doin' here, boy?" she heard Spike ask again.

"I told you."

"To kill us?" the older man asked in a mocking tone.  "I seriously doubt that."

For a singular moment, Sebastian's eyes narrowed in the doubt of his abilities.  "I had been sitting there for quiet awhile, sir.  If I had wanted, I could have."

"Why didn't you?" Buffy quickly cut in before Spike actually was able to pick a fight with the ten-year-old in front of him.

Returning to his even face, Sebastian told her, "You're her only chance.  I couldn't take that away."

"Since when do you give a damn about my daughter?!  You helped put her in that hell!"

"Spike," Buffy said softly.  She reached up and touched his arm, trying her best to cool him down before he did something stupid, like hurt the boy and ruin their only chance in possibly helping Dylan.

"I do care about her," the boy shot back defensively before dropping his gaze from theirs yet again.  "More than I should."

"Then help us," Buffy demanded.  "Take us to her.  Bring her to us!  Just do something!"

"It's not that simple and you know it."

Spike watched as Sebastian gave Buffy a hard look that she shrunk away from.  She knew something, something he didn't, which apparently was going to complicate things even more.  He'd ask her about it later.  Right now just didn't seem like the time or the place.

Sighing, the boy slouched slightly and sat back on the bar stool.  "I want to help her," he told them honestly.  "But I don't know how.  And even if I did….I don't know if it would matter now anyway."

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look.  This wasn't good.  Not good at all.

********** 

Dylan quickly slipped into the back seat of the car, shutting the door just as the vehicle started off once more.  The young girl was breathing hard after having run several blocks in a zigzag pattern for Connor to follow.  She knew he had not been that far behind her.  Like him, she picked up his scent not long ago and it had been getting stronger and stronger.  He was so close…

A part of her was yelling at herself for not taking the opportunity to let him catch her.  He could have taken her home to her family and friends and she could have put this whole thing behind her.  But then he would have known why she led him away.  They would have known for sure what she had become.

It had happened, the sticky smell hung over the two men in the front seat like a cloak of death.  Yet again, she had proven the old man next to her right.  She was a thing…the monster of his creation.  She had known, and she had done as she was told like always.

Grandfather smiled at the child next to him.  "You did very well, darling."

Without raising her eyes from the floorboard, she answered solemnly, "Thank you, Grandfather."

********** 

Connor frowned as he came to a stop at the street corner where the trail ended.  Overhead, the sky was starting to lighten up in the early morning hours, and a few people were starting to busy the street on their way to work.  He looked up the road, then down the other way.  She was gone, again.

Sighing, the young man returned to the apartment building he had left what seemed just like minutes before.  He wasn't actually sure how long he had been gone, an hour, maybe more, but he knew it had been longer than he planned.  Giles was probably awake now, sitting on the couch with a scolding look for his irresponsible behavior.  However, he was pretty sure the older man would understand that he had to try.

He quickly climbed the fire escape that he had used earlier, and slipped back through the still opened window.  To his surprise, Giles was still asleep on the couch, his head dropped back and his mouth slightly opened letting soft, muffled snores escape from deep within his throat.  Connor bit the inside of his cheeks to kill a smile.  Guess the poor guy really was getting to old for all this.

The smile quickly died though as he took a step towards the old man and caught a new scent…several in fact.  Someone had been there while he was gone.  And there was something else, something stickier, darker, something…

Connor charged across the small living room towards the hall, accidentally knocking the couch as he went by.  Giles snorted loudly from the sudden jolt, rolled slightly, and fell right off the piece of furniture.  His head shot up just in time to see Connor take off down the hall for Lindsey's bedroom.

"Connor?" he called, pushing himself up off the floor.  

His back cringed and a sharp pain shot through his neck and shoulder, causing him to groan.  After he had a moment to adjust, he went after the young man that had so rudely awakened him.  

"Connor, what is it?"

Giles found him in Lindsey's room, standing right next to her bed, looking down at the woman.  She lay on her side, turned away from the Watcher and the boy.  A deep frown was on Connor's face as he finally looked up at Giles' then back down at the woman.  He then reached over, grabbed her shoulder, and rolled her on her back.  

Her throat had been slashed.

********** 

Travers sat at his desk, his chair turned towards the large window behind it that overlooked part of downtown and a bit of Central Park.  The sun had risen over the horizon, bathing the city in a warm light as it began to come alive for another day.  Well, mostly come alive; some of her residents hadn't lived to see the new day that waited.

He frowned at the thought of his dearly departed secretary.  He had always liked Lindsey; she had been a dutiful servant when she had worked for him.  Too bad she turned out to be a traitor, just like most people did if they were not taught correctly.  Well, he was making sure now that he wouldn't have that problem in the future with his new…servants.

The frown gave way to a grin as the though of how Mr. Giles was probably just now finding the body.  He could see him, standing there with his mouth hanging open in disgust at what had happen.  Then he would slowly begin to realize that he had been a sitting duck there as he slept.  They could have easily killed him too, but they hadn't.  He would look for the reason why forever, Travers had no doubt of that.  

Truth was, it wasn't because he had like the old man and decided to give him a break or anything like that.  It hadn't even been because Dylan had begged him not to hurt him.  The simple reason was…so he'd be tortured because he let Lindsey die and they had let him live.  Sometimes, mind games really could be fun. 

A timid knock came from his door, pulling Travers' away from his amusement at the thought of torturing Giles.  Well, time to see if his other mission had gone as successfully.

"Enter," he called.

He listened as the door opened and shut and waited several long seconds until he was sure that the boy was now standing in front of his desk.  The old man then slowly turned his chair around and came face to face with the child he had sent out earlier that night.

Sebastian stood there, his arms behind his back and trying hard not to swallow to moisten his quickly drying throat.  This had been the first time he had ever actually failed on a mission, and he wasn't sure how Grandfather would take it.  

Part of him was yelling at himself for not just bringing Buffy and Spike with him to take Dylan away; but he couldn't do that, not yet anyway.  Dylan wasn't ready for them to find her as of yet, and it would be his job to get her ready again before he would help them get her back.  Grandfather had done a lot of damage to the little girl, and Sebastian knew he was going to have to help undo some of it before she could go.

"Is it done?"

This time, Bastian couldn't stop his throat from reflectively swallowing.  "No."

He watched as something flashed through Grandfather's eyes, giving him the briefest glance at the evil he knew lay beneath.  The old man was not happy by this failure.

"And why is it not?"

Drawing a deep breath, the boy held it for a moment.  He felt bad about the excuse he had come up with, knowing that it would probably only cause more problems, but he dared not stray from it.  After all, he had told them it would be only a matter of time before the old man found out anyway; better he used it to keep himself alive to help Dylan than let Grandfather find out some other way and take it out on the boy for not telling him earlier.

"Buffy's pregnant."

Sebastian stood there, watching as the anger behind the man's eyes suddenly changed to terror before he turned away from the boy.  That was weird.  Of all the reactions he had expected, that had not been one of them.

"Leave," Grandfather bit, his back once more to the child.  Bastian could only stand there, blinking several times in surprise.  When he found the boy still there, Travers hissed, "Now!"

A moment later, he heard the door close as the child did as he was told.  He sat there for a long time, just staring off into nothing as he processed what Sebastian had told him.  

Pregnant.  The slayer was pregnant again.  

He turned his chair back around to face the desk, reached into the bottom right hand drawer, and pulled out a bottle of scotch he kept there for emergencies.  To hell with the fact that it was six in the morning; he needed booze and lots of it.

He had hoped that he would have been able to take care of the problem before it came to this.  That she wouldn't have lived to create this new mess.  God, why couldn't she have just died like a normal person would have back in Moscow?  That had been all he wanted, the only reason he had gone to them to bring her back just like they had brought back the witch for him.  Yeah, they hadn't known he planned on killing her again once she had served her purpose for him and saw what Dylan had done, but he also had shot her to prevent this very thing from happening.  Apparently, he had already been too late.  

Hell, they had probably cast a protection spell on her the moment one of their seers had known she was pregnant to keep anything from happening to the child.  Probably the only reason his shot had missed and not killed her. 

It took him polishing off his second glass before he even dared looked at the black phone on the edge of his desk.  His lips went dry, so he poured himself a third glass and downed half of it before going back to the phone.  

_Well, time to give the devil his due_, he thought with a sigh as he let go of the glass on his desk and reached for the receiver.

He didn't remember dialing the number, nor had been aware of the ringing through the phone line.  It wasn't until he heard the other end being picked up that he became aware of anything.

"This is Travers," he said.  Then, there was a long pause followed by his sigh.  "What do you want done?"

********** 


	8. Twilight

_Part 8: Twilight_

He stood in Jackson Square, staring up at the old Cathedral that towered over the courtyard filled with people.  

Most were tourist, out seeing the sights of New Orleans in late May.  They had waited until after the thunderstorm that occurred regularly in the area to venture into the downtown area of the city.  Perhaps they assumed that the rain would cool things off, and, with the added setting sun, then the heat and humidity would not be that bad.  They didn't realize that things actually got hotter after the rain.  Not that heat and humidity really mattered all that much to him, but he knew that Giles was dying and Connor even made it known he was uncomfortable.

Over head, the sky was a mixture of dark gray clouds residual from the storm, and burning red from the setting sun.  It looked like someone had been cutting into the gray, giving the image that the sky was now bleeding from the gapping wounds.  A bloody sight, yet strangely beautiful, even for those who weren't vampires.

It had been nearly two months since that night in New York with that kid Sebastian, and they hadn't heard a thing from him since then.  Spike had been kicking himself since then for not just making the boy take them to where Dylan was, but the child had ended up pulling a Houdini on them after their little talk.  Part of the vampire had hoped the kid would have gotten in contact with them by now, but, with each passing day, that seemed less and less likely.  Now the group of men found themselves tracking Travers ever cooling trail.  This time it led south to Louisiana. 

Giles had disappeared into one of the nearby occult shops which New Orleans was famous for.  Spike wasn't quite sure why the old Watcher had gone; perhaps to get some supplies or see if maybe they had some useful information.  Of course, he was willing to lay odds that it was for a matter of business.  Anya probably told him to go and make some connections for the Magic Box while they were in the Big Easy for voodoo dolls or something of the sort.

Little Peaches was currently across the road in Café Du Monde trying a beignet with the other three hundred people crammed into the small area.  He figured he might as well get something to eat while they were waiting on Giles to return, and the French pastry seemed as good as anything.  Spike just hoped the kid remembered to wipe his hands when he was done; the last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of the night brushing powder sugar off everything the kid touched.

The vampire himself had decided to wait in front of the church, near where the artist and tarot card readers were setup.  He didn't dare go any closer to the house of God, but stood there all the same looking up at the building.  Years back, going into the church would have meant nothing to him; just another place that happened to be where stupid mortals prayed for goodness, strength, and help.  Now that he had the soul, he hardly felt as if he should look at the place, let alone consider going inside.  But, maybe by standing this close, his own prayers would still be heard.

There was another feeling, one that had been plaguing him since late last night.  He didn't know quite how to describe it other than a tight, anxious ball in the pit of stomach.  

Though Spike didn't have a name for the sensation, he knew it rather well.  It was the same feeling he got the night before Cecily's party and in China when he fought and killed his first slayer.  It was there when he and Drusilla were making their way to Sunnydale the first time and when he returned on his own the second.  It had stalked him the night he and the slayer had been taken, and had nearly made him sick on the night Dylan was born.  It was there the night Buffy had been killed and returned with her.  There was change in the air, and it was going to happen soon.

He just wished he knew what it was.

********** 

Willow knelt in front of Buffy, her green eyes studying the crystal with the same intensity she had when she had to study for a test back in high school.  Nothing was going to break her concentration, not until she got her answer.

"And the crystal says," the redhead said slowly, "you will have a…boy!"

Her face lightened up at the answer she had retrieved from the clear rock she had been swinging over Buffy's now rather defined stomach.  A small smile rose to the slayers lips as she thought about her friend's prediction.  

A boy.   A baby boy.  Gees, that would be strange, considering her mother had only had daughters, and Buffy herself also had a little girl.  It would be kind of nice to have a little boy in the house; at least then they wouldn't out number Spike so badly.

"Oh, please," Anya said from behind the counter where she had been going over the day's receipts.  "That's the same crystal that said Cash was going to be a girl.  And guess what, _he's not."_

"Well, it-it's not an exact science, so there's room for error," Willow tried to defend.

"Oh, for the love of…" Anya started as she rolled her eyes, then reached into the cash register and pulled out a coin.  "I have just as much chance guessing what Buffy's baby will be by flipping this coin as you do by waving that piece of rock over her stomach."

The witch sighed as she slumped back in her chair.  "How many times to do I have to say I'm sorry I guessed wrong on Cash?"

"You're sorry?!  Do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to having another daughter?!  I was going to teach her all the cool things about being a girl like I am with Jessie, like wearing dresses and make-up and how wonderful it feels when a guy put his-."

"Anya!" both Willow and Buffy exclaimed, cutting the ex-vengeance demon off.

"Anyway," she went on, "I even had a room set up, all pretty and pink.  But then I had a boy.  A boy!  Me, Anyanka, the demon who wrought vengeance in women's names against the evil male species, suddenly contributed another one!  I love my son, yes, but do you have any idea how embarrassing it is when I run into my old friends and they are laughing at me because I am now raising a male?"

Willow and Buffy rolled their eyes and tuned the woman out as she continued to rant about what Halfrek said the last time she saw her.  The ex-witch smiled warmly at her friend as she took the seat next to her at the table.

"So, you heard anything from Spike lately?"

Instinctively, Buffy's hands reached up and began to rub her stomach.  "Um, yeah, he called last night.  Said he and Connor and Giles were still getting nowhere in New Orleans, but were going to keep trying."

"That's good," Willow said lowly.  "That they'll keep trying, I mean.  Not the whole 'nothing to go on.'  Maybe they'll, you know, find something."

"Here's hoping," Buffy answered.

"NO!" a voice bellowed out as the bell over the door rang out and three kids came charging into the store, followed by an annoyed Andrew.  Van and Jessie slid their book bags off their shoulders and headed off to various parts of the store as Cash held onto to the reddish blond-haired man.  As Jessie reached over to do something to Van, Andrew snapped again, "Jessie I said stop it."

The brown-haired child rolled her eyes at the man and then turned to her mother, who had finally stopped ranting to see what the commotion was about.  "Mommy, tell Andrew he can't tell me what to do because he's just a servant."

"I am not a servant!" Andrew snapped with an unusually firmness that only came out around the children.  Probably because they were the only members of the group that he didn't feel had the right to look down on him for whatever reason.  

"He's right, honey," Anya told the little girl.  "Andrew's not a servant because I have to pay him to work for me.  That makes him the help."

"Anya!" Willow said.

"What?  It's true.  I pay him therefore he has to do as I say.  That makes him the help."

"No, that makes him your employee."

"Same difference," she shrugged.

"No, it's-You know what, never mind," the ex-witch sighed, giving up on the situation.

This was a familiar scene.  Andrew would come in after picking up the kids from their after school programs, Jessie or Cash would do something and then say something to their mom, and of course Anya never helped the situation unless to make it worse.  Then either Willow or Xander would do their best to defend her servant-employee who could end this all if he would just stand up for himself.  But Anya could be rather scary; and Buffy didn't know how Andrew was able to continue walking upright since he never did grow that spine.

Jessie and Van had lost interest in the conversation and were now seated at the table.  Jessie's colorful backpack had been picked up off the floor and was now sitting before her, waiting for her to open it and pull out her books like Van had already done.  The young boy pushed his reading glasses up his nose as he pulled out an English book that was far too thick for any fourth grader.  Jessie made a face before pulling out a flimsy workbook for math.  After considering it for a moment, the young girl quickly decided that playing with the rings on her fingers was more exciting than doing homework.  She was most definitely related to Xander in that aspect.

During this time, Cash had abandoned Andrew and was slowly sneaking up on his big sister, being as careful as he could that she didn't spot him.  At the current moment, Jessie had taken off her largest ring and was spinning it like a quarter across the table, just waiting for one of the adults to tell her to stop that and start her homework.  Cash moved up to the table crouched low and barely peeking over the table's edge to watch the ring.  When it stopped, Jessie reached over to make it spin again, but the boy's arm shot out and scooped the piece of the jewelry up before he took off with it.

"MOM!" Jessie exclaimed before taking off after the laughing child.  "Give it back, Cash!" the girl screamed, chasing him around the table.  The boy darted behind his mother as Jessie followed and demanded, "Give it back, you little troll, or I'll make Mr. Froggy meet Mr. Trash Compactor!" 

"Mommy!" Cash cried, nearly bursting into tears at the thought that his sister would actually make the Kermit be torn to shreds.  He took the threat seriously because, instead of having army men, he had small puddles of melted plastic to play with.

"Jessie," Anya sighed, picking the boy up and placing him on the counter.

"He took my ring!" she exclaimed in justification.

Anya looked at the young child before and held out her hand, which he placed the small gold ring in.  He pouted a little, but Anya paid it no mind as she handed the piece of jewelry back over to the little girl.  

"Now, go do your homework," she ordered her oldest, who rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

Buffy watched in awe at how Anya was actually able to handle that almost like her own mother would have if it were her and Dawn.  No yelling, no threatening of any kind on her part, just that calm way parents defuse situations when they have more than one child.  

The slayer suddenly became very aware that she would be doing that very soon too.  She was going to have two children, and there would be times when they would be fighting like that and she would have to handle it.  Thing is she didn't know if she would be able too.  Usually, her way of handling a situation where two people are fighting involved her own use of violence to make them stop. She was pretty sure that wasn't the right way to handle two children battling with one another. And they were her and Spike's kids, so she knew that they were going to love to fight with each other.  She just hoped that they didn't end up killing one another.

Of course, the first thing she had to do was get the oldest one back before she had to consider them fighting at all.  She let out a sigh as she looked down at her stomach and began to rub it again as the child kicked her hard.

_Don't worry, kid_, she thought, _we'll find your big sister.  After all, you're going to need someone to fight with.  All of us Summers do._  

********** 

Cordy sat at the front desk, absentmindedly tapping her pencil against the desk in a steady, quick motion.  It had been quiet all afternoon, with no trace of a call coming in any time soon, which was really strange for them this time of year.  

Every May since Buffy had came into her life her sophomore year of high school, she had been met with some sort of disaster or Big Bad or, generally, an unstoppable apocalypse that, strange enough, they always seemed to help avert.  Yet, May was almost over, and nothing huge had happened.  She hadn't even had a vision in over two months.  God, as sick as it sounded, she was so bored.

"Would you mind stopping that?" an irritated, British voice asked from nearby.

Cordelia glanced up from the nothing she had been staring into to see Wesley glaring at her.  His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly with a deep frown to accent them; an intimidated look that he had picked up over the years he had been with Angel Investigation.  But even now, after having known the man for so long, Cordy still couldn't take the look too seriously.  After all, she had known him when he was Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Buffy's new wet-behind-the-ears Watcher who had been so uptight and proper she would have sworn the rod up his ass stopped for its own tea time.

The seer had barely been able to kill a smile before the ex-Watcher turned back to the dusty old book in his lap and said, "Some of us are trying to work."

Cordy's own eyes narrowed at the tone he had used, like she was some child who had been annoying the adults for long enough.  Fred, who was sitting across from Wesley and helping him research, caught the look and decided to try and defuse it before they were reminded just how Cordy had been in high school.

"So, when did Lorne say that he'd be back?" she asked, avoiding the deadly glare that Cordelia turned her way.

Wesley looked up once more from the book to the mousy woman across from him.  She had her most childlike innocent look on her face, as if she was really interested in when the green demon would be returning from wherever he had gone.  

"Soon, I expect," Wesley told the young woman.  "He has been gone for quite some-."

"Guy's," Cordy spoke up, cutting the ex-Watcher off.

The two turned towards the seer and found that a far off familiar look on her face.  A vision.  She was having a vision.

Both Wes and Fred got to their feet, and the young man hurried to her side.  As the vision ended, Cordy shook her head slowly and woozily swayed on her feet.  She would have fallen to the floor completely had Wesley not caught her.

"What did you see?"

After clearing her head a bit more, the ex-cheerleader answered, "A kid…some vamps…and the train station.  You do the math."

Wesley frowned, then looked over at Fred, "Go get Angel."

********** 

Buffy shifted in her seat at the table, hoping to find a position that would be somewhat comfortable.  However, no matter which way she turned, it really didn't help.  The kid had moved itself to where it was pushing against her rib cage and didn't act as if it planned on moving anytime soon.  After several minutes of this, the slayer gave a deep sigh of frustration and defeat before pushing herself up so she could stand.

"You okay?" Willow asked, rising to her own feet.

"Yeah," Buffy answered, shifting on her feet to find her center of balance.  

A little over two months to go and she was sure she was almost as big as she had been when she had Dylan.  She was already naturally small, so it really didn't take much to make her look like she was already in her ninth month.  She'd have to remember to ask that witch doctor…the doctor who was a witch friend of Willow's, whether there was something she could do about it.  One thing was for sure, there was no possible way she'd ever be a size two ever again.  Lord, she just hoped she'd still be a size six when this was over.

"I think I'm going to go ahead and head home," the slayer announced.  "Mom wants to rummage through the basement tonight for some old baby stuff."

"If you want, I'll send Xander and Andrew to help you," Anya offered helpfully.  "They're good at moving heavy objects and can scare away any small rodent-like creatures that could have possibly taken up residence since Spike's departure."

"You know, I might have plans for tonight," Andrew spoke up in a tone that reminded the slayer of when Dawn was younger and her mother had volunteered her to do some of her sister's chores because Buffy was busy with slayer stuff.

"Oh, you can watch Obi-Wan and Spock go in search of new lifeforms tomorrow night," Anya said dismissively with the wave of her hand before turning back to Buffy.  "I can send them over after patrol."

"Obi-Wan and Spock?!" Andrew balked, but no one was paying him any mind any longer.

"That's alright, Anya.  I think me and Mom and Dawn can handle it."

"Nonsense," the ex-demon said with the same tone she had used on Andrew, and also proving that she had been hanging around Giles for far too long.  "You're pregnant, so you shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting.  Joyce is too old to be doing that sort of stuff, and Dawn's too scrawny to do it."

"Obi-Wan and Spock?!"

"Anya, it's fine.  You don't have to-."

"They'll be there later, so just wait to move the boxes until then," the shop-owner ordered, and with that the subject was closed.

Buffy glanced over to Willow.  How the hell did Anya do that?  Willow could only offer a confused shrug which caused the slayer to groan slightly before heading once more for the door.

As she left into the late afternoon, Buffy heard Andrew exclaim on last time, "Obi-Wan and Spock?!"

There weren't many people out that afternoon, which was fine by her.  She really didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people right at that moment, and just wanted to get home where her mother was waiting.  Buffy almost felt like she had when she was still in school and had to hurry home directly after because she was grounded for some reason or another.  Of course, the baby kicking inside of her quickly reminded the slayer that this was not the case.

She passed in front of the bank downtown, just down the road from the movie house that she and her friends had spent a lot of time at the summer between her senior year of high school and freshman year of college.  Xander had thought the marathons would take her mind off of Angel's departure, but the theater itself only reminded her of him.  Still did, but at least it didn't hurt anymore to think of him.

The slayer was so lost in her own thoughts that she had failed to see the man walking towards her who was concentrating on a piece of paper he carried.  The two inevitably ran into one another, nearly knocking Buffy to the ground and causing the man to drop what he was reading.

He grabbed for the pregnant woman he had bumped into so she wouldn't fall, all the while rattling, "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't see you."

"Geez, sorry," Buffy said over his words. 

"Are you okay?  I didn't hurt you-?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

They both spotted the paper that had landed next Buffy's foot and went for it at the same time, causing the two adults to knock their heads against one another.  A pair of twin groans echoed on the street from the contact, as the blonde reached up and touched the side of her forehead.  The man she had run into did the same, then laughed softly.  He held up his hand to tell her that he was going to go for the paper, then retrieved it.

"I'm sorry about that, Miss," he apologized again.  "I should have been looking where I was going."

"No, I was the one spacing.  It was my fault."

"Well, I suppose if no one was hurt, it doesn't really matter," he smiled.

Buffy looked over the man before her who was finding so much amassment in their little accident.  He was about Xander's height and build, but was wearing a suit that her friend couldn't even afford in his dreams.  He was an older man as well, probably about as old as her mother had been when they moved to Sunnydale all those years ago.  His hair was thinning and receding further and further north and he reminded her a lot of her father, Hank.

"Hey, maybe running into you was a good thing," he went on.  "I kind of gotten myself turned around and maybe you can point me in the right direction."

"You got lost in Sunnydale?" Buffy asked, raising her eyebrow skeptically.  At his sheepish smile and shrug, the slayer added, "Wow.  That takes some real skill there."

"What can I say?  My wife says that I would get lost on my way to the mailbox."  He then looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and then handed it over to the pregnant blonde, who found an address written on it.  A very familiar address.  "Could you please tell me how to get to Crawford Street from here?"

Buffy stared at the paper, looked up at the man, then up at the sky just to be sure that the sun was still out and she wasn't talking to a vampire.  Well, her slayer senses weren't going haywire telling her he was one, or even a demon for that matter; but he wanted to go to the mansion!  Angelus' mansion!  That could only lead to evil things…right?

"You're heading to the mansion there?" she asked, trying not to sound like she was prying but not really succeeding.

The man laughed again.  Apparently that wasn't the first time he had been asked that.

"Um, yeah.  My wife and I just moved into the place.  And yes, we've heard the stories about it being haunted and a place of evil, and no, we don't believe it.  The only thing evil I can find about the place was that ugly, life-size, gargoyle statue in the garden.  I mean, I know my wife has brought home some hideous looking art work before, but whoever bought that thing must have been blind!  But I guess it does keep the animals away from my wife's roses."

Buffy smiled nervously.  Oh, God, she'd forgotten they'd moved Acathla into the garden after Angel's return.  Now the statue that could potentially open a portal to hell was being used as a glorified scarecrow?  Oh, the guys were going to love this.

"Well, if you can just point me in that direction, I would be very appreciative," he went on, asking for her help once more.

"Oh, um, yeah." 

She turned away from him and pointed the way for him, all the while making a mental note to keep an eye on anyone who would willingly move into the old place.  When she was done, Buffy turned back and saw a relieved look on the man's face.

"Thank you so much.  If I'm late for dinner, my wife's going to kill me."  He seemed to consider the woman who had just helped him for a moment, then extended his hand out to her.  "I'm Kenneth.  Kenneth Shelton."

"Buffy," she answered, plastering a fake smile on her face as she took his hand in hers.

"Well, Buffy, it was nice meeting you.  And thanks again for the directions."  He began to walk the way she had told him, but stopped and turned back to the blonde.  "I'll see you around sometime?"

"Oh, I'm sure you will," she agreed.

He smiled again, then continued on his way.

"Geez, dead for seven years and she's still got guys hitting on her?  Now that takes some real talent."

Buffy spun around to face the voice, her eyes wide as she forgot all about Kenneth Shelton.  No.  It couldn't be.

She stood leaning against the bank, a smug smile on her face.  Her dark hair fell onto her shoulders in loose curls, giving her the appearance of someone much younger than she actually was.  Of course, the low riding jeans and tight gray t-shirt didn't help much either.  She looked just like Buffy remembered.  The only thing about her that looked remotely old were her brown eyes, but that should be expected of slayers.  The blonde knew hers were very much the same way.

With a sigh, Buffy said, "Hello, Faith."

********** 


	9. The Talk

_Part 9: The Talk_

Faith flipped on the lights, illuminated the dingy motel room that looked as if it were better left in the dark.  The bed, which was still messed up from earlier use, bore what a place like this called a comforter. Strangely, it was an exact match to the curtains that looked as if they could withstand a nuclear blast if they had too.  There was an old nineteen inch on a turn table across from the bed, with a remote bolted to the nightstand.  The walls were painted a color that Buffy couldn't decide whether it had originally been yellow or a light brown, and the carpet screamed seventies shag.  As she followed the brunette inside, the blonde slayer couldn't help but feel that it may be a good idea to stop by the hospital to get a shot on her way home.

"Know it's not much, but it has the essentials. Bed.  Bathroom.  All the multi-legged company I could want," the dark-haired woman said with a shrug before flopping down on the edge of her bed.

Buffy frowned as she glanced over at a ratty looking chair next to an equally repulsive table in front of the window.  Generally in situations like this she preferred to stand, but, given the fact that her feet felt like they had been racked over broken glass and rocks from standing too long, she decided to chance the furniture and sit.  As she lowered herself into the seat, Faith watched with a great deal of interest and amusement.

However, instead of making a comment about the blonde's current condition, the brunette dropped her head for a moment, and said softly, "I heard about Pickle.  I'm sorry."

"Pickle?" Buffy blinked in confusion.  Who said anything about a pickle?

Faith grinned at her, then explained, "Dylan."

"Oh."  

The blonde slayer still didn't see the connection, but didn't ask.  Faith had nicknames for everyone, just like Spike, and there was absolutely no telling where she came up with that one for her daughter.

"I've kept my ear to the ground, but, you know, demons ain't that chatty before you kill them.  Least, nothin' useful anyway."  

She sighed as she leaned back on the bed, her hands nervously fidgeting next to her on the comforter.  Buffy recognized the motion; Spike did the same thing whenever he wanted a cigarette but couldn't have one.  Deciding that perhaps she was more comfortable the other way, the one time rogue slayer sat back up and leaned forward towards the blonde.  

"Last I heard, you guys where headin' for former Commie Country.  Did ya find anything?"

Dropping her eyes from the dark-haired woman's gaze, Buffy looked down at her swollen belly and began to rub it gently.

"Yeah, we found something," she said softly, remembering exactly what had happened with perfect clarity.  Ignoring the brunette's frown and questioning eyes, Buffy quickly asked, "What are you doing here, Faith?"

This caused the frown on her fellow slayer's face to deepen.  She and the blonde had never been what you would call 'the best of friends,' but she did know Buffy well enough to know that something bad had happened.  Faith also knew that there was no way the pregnant slayer was going to tell her anything about it.  Buffy was stubborn like that, taking everything onto herself and never sharing for whatever reason.  Pickle was the same way.

"It's a long story, B."

"I've got the time," Buffy answered.

Drawing in deep breath, the brunette let it out slow before saying, "Little over-God, I guess it's been eight months ago…Anyway, I was down in Buenos Aries - you know, partyin', slayin', the fun stuff - and I came across a pretty nasty group of people.  Didn't think too much about 'em, just thought they were some wacked-out religious types that thought a little too much of demons for their own good.  Tried to tell 'em, demons are not our friends, but they wouldn't listen to me.  Just kept goin' on about how 'the darkness was returning' and 'the traitor was giving them the master' or some shit like that.  I kept an eye on 'em, but, really, they didn't seem like they did anything but talk.  Then the next thing I knew I was hearin' about a ritualistic killing involvin' most of the cult.  News said it was like Jonestown, if Jonestown was, you know, run by Al Capon."

Buffy watched as the guilt passed over Faith's face.  The dark-haired slayer then drew in another breath and seemed to shake it off before going on.

"Only survivors were the higher ups.  They killed those people to try and raise whatever-the-hell they were trying to raise, then split the second it didn't work.  I found a couple here and there, but they were either dead when I found 'em or killed themselves the second I asked 'em anything about it.  Which got me thinkin'…"

"It's not over," Buffy supplied, following along.  

Like she didn't have enough to worry already; she now had to keep an eye out for a psycho cult?  God, her life sucked.  

"Let me guess.  You think they're in Sunnydale now?"

"You know the hellmouth, always attractin' some kind of badness," Faith said with a small shrug.  Upon seeing the look on Buffy's face, the brunette assured her, "Hey, don't worry about it, I got this one, B.  Might need to borrow the Scoobies for awhile, but I can handle it.  You just go, be barefoot in the kitchen, eattin' pickles and ice cream, or whatever-the-hell it is you pregnant women do."

Buffy sighed as she sat back in her seat.  Faith told her not to worry about it, but how could she not?  There was a cult in Sunnydale that killed nearly all its members to raise something, and, now that they were on top of the hellmouth, there was no telling what they could pull out of the ground with that kind of ambition.  

Faith said that the hellmouth was what attracted the badness; she forgot to mention that slayers do too, especially Buffy herself. That alone told the blonde to worry, and worry a lot.  

********** 

Angel stood in the middle of the station, people passing around him to head off to wherever they wanted to go.  The sun had only recently set, and he should be just getting out of bed, but instead he found himself in the middle of the Amtrak train station in downtown Los Angeles. 

He could safely say one thing, Grand Central Station this place was not.  True, there wasn't really anything wrong with it, but it certainly lacked the glamour.  Then, most people flew to L.A. or drove.  Trains now a days were thought to be just so…passé.

Angel glanced over to his right and saw Wesley walking along with the flow of people towards the platform area.  He was sure if there would be any vamps out there right now, but the ex-Watcher was in search of anything unusual, whatever that might be.  

When the brown-haired man disappeared outside, the soulful vampire turned to head deeper into the terminal.  If vamps were here, they would probably still be hiding out until they were sure that the sun was down.  In a building like this, that could be just about anywhere.  Most likely it was in a place marked with 'Authorized Personal Only.'  

He found one of the afore mentioned doors in the back of the station cracked opened.  It looked as if someone, a very strong someone, had broken the lock and forced their way in.  Angel couldn't help but frown as he wondered exactly how many employees had ventured back into the dark room to find out what had happened only to end up something's dinner.  Well, there was nothing he could do for them now; he'd just have to watch out for any newly risen fledglings that might have come from their curiosity.

As he himself ventured into the dark room, Angel heard someone say, "Dude, she's a kid.  How far could she have gotten?"

Slowly, the soulful vampire walked between the metal shelves that lined either side of the room and held lost, unclaimed baggage until he came to a small clearing far in the back of the large storage room.  Standing there were several male vampires, still in game face.  One stood in the middle of the room, looking as if he were trying to calm down the friend who was stalking in front of him.  The third one stood off to the side near where the brown-haired champion was, but the vamp didn't notice him.  Since none of them sensed him, he could only assume that they were not that old.

"I mean, chill.   We'll find the little brat," the one in the center assured his friend.

"We better," the one with his back to them growled before turning around.  

Angel now understood this vamp's source of anger, a large gash going down the side of his face that was still bleeding.  He couldn't tell whether he lost the eye or not, but one thing was certain, he'd never be able to see out of it again if it was even still there.  

"I want that kid to be in pain before I kill her!"

"A kid did that?!" Angel asked, trying his best to sound like Angelus as he leaned on the shelf closest to him.  

The three vamps turned to face him, the one closest to him growling deeply before backing a little towards his friends and away from older vampire.  Angel gave the boy a cool look, before turning back to the one he pinned as their leader.  

"What'd you do?  Try and take her Barbie doll?"

"Who the hell are you?!" the one nearby demanded with a thick Hispanic accent.

Injured Boy narrowed his good eye as he said, "That's the traitor that kills his own kind."

"I go by Angel for short."

As soon as his name left the soulful vampire's lips, the Hispanic vamp launched himself at him with his 'dude' friend close behind.  Angel sidestepped the first one, grabbed the vamp's shirt collar, and, using his own force against him, threw him into a nearby shelf that started the line on the right side of the room.  A domino effect followed, with each shelf taking out the one in front of it in a series of loud crashes.  Angel didn't have time to worry about it or the attention the noise would cause; he had other problems at the moment.

Dude growled loudly upon his advance, baring his fangs as he rammed into Angel's side knocking them both to the ground.  He pinned the older vampire under him, before hitting him across the face several times.  Angel's head popped from side to side with sickening jerks before he grabbed Dude's descending fist, threw it back, then forcefully pushed the younger vamp off him.  His attacker seemed to literally fly off him and landed hard on the ground in front of the soulful champion.

Angel quickly got to his feet and was over Dude before he knew what had happened.  Jerking his wrist back to release the stake, the brown-haired vampire slammed his palm into the kid's chest, allowing the stake to penetrate his heart.  Dude's eyes widen in surprise before his whole body turned to dust.

When Angel stood up, he glanced down at the weapon that extended out from under his sleeve.  He'd have to remember to thank Wesley for this great Christmas present yet again when they got back to the hotel.

Angel then felt something hard hit him from behind, causing him to stumble forward.  Still holding the spot on the back of his head where he'd been hit, he turned around to find Hispanic Guy standing there, ready to strike with a metal pole that he had pulled off of one of the broken shelves.  He had a wild grin on his deformed face, as the two vamps began to circle each other like a pair of gladiators fighting for their lives in the Roman coliseum.  

"Come on, traidor!" the vamp egged, taking fake steps towards Angel like he was about to attack only to fall back.  "Pelo grande!  Come on!"

Angel paused in his stride.  "Did you just call me 'big hair'?"

Hispanic Guy took advantage of his momentary distraction and attacked, swinging the metal rod at Angel's head.  The master vampire barely had time to duck and could feel the metal barely brush against the top of his head as the wind 'whooshed' by.  When he came back up, his arm shot out and caught the weapon.  Angel's free fist then smashed against the guy's nose, causing his head to shoot back painfully.  The rod loosened in Hispanic Guy's grip as Angel hit him several more times, before the weapon fell to the ground which echoed loudly in the room.

Now free from worry about the pole, Angel grabbed the guy's head and slammed it downward, while, at the same time, he raised his knee.  The vampire's face smashed into it painfully.  Hispanic Guy stumbled backwards in a daze from the hit and Angel quickly jammed the stake into his heart.

Two down, one to go.

Angel glanced over at Injured Boy who had been watching from the side lines as his two friends fought and lost to the so-called traitor.  He growled deeply in his throat, but began to move away from the larger and older vampire.  Apparently he knew he wouldn't win in the fight, and was going to be a coward and not even try.  Angel watched him carefully, knowing that he couldn't allow him to leave; too many innocent people would be hurt if he did.

As Injured Boy backed away, the shelf behind him that was closest to the wall suddenly began to creak and groan, causing both vampires to look at it.  In what seemed like slow motion, the metal box began to fall forward at the younger vampire, spilling its contents on the concrete ground.  Injured Boy jumped back to keep the self from falling on top him.  What he didn't realize was that this motion also brought him close enough to Angel for the soulful vampire to do his job.  The wounded vampire's whole body jerked forward as the stake penetrated his back to his heart, causing him to explode into a pile of dust like his friends.  

Angel smiled to himself as he watched the ashes float to the ground.  That really wasn't so bad.  Usually, Cordy's visions sent him into much worse danger than this.

A movement against the wall where the shelf had fallen alerted Angel to another presence in the room.  He knew it had to be the kid that they were after, and he also knew that this was the one who must have helped him.  

Looking up, Angel found a child scrunched up against the wall.  Her hair and clothes were smeared with fresh blood from the last vamp, which was probably why he had not noticed her scent before.  However, now that he had, Angelus could feel his already cold blood drop several degrees.

"Oh, my God."

********** 

"Mom, I'm home!" Buffy called into the well lit house as she walked in.

As the set of keys slid out of her hand and into the small bowl in the foyer, she heard her sister yelp almost frantically, "Buffy!  There you are!"

The slayer turned her head and found the living room was now occupied by her mother, sister, and Andrew.  Dawn and Joyce had worried looks on their faces that were quickly changing over to relief.  Andrew, however, barely seemed to notice her before going back to his current project, which was going through a large, cardboard box they had drug up from the basement.

"Buffy, where have you been?!" Joyce asked still sounding rather frazzled, though the younger blonde wasn't sure why.

"Andrew said you left the Magic Box nearly two hours ago!" Dawn quickly added.  "We've been looking for you everywhere!" 

Oh, so that's what this was about.

She knew they all meant well, and were only trying to look after her because Spike had asked them too; but she was the slayer and could take care of herself.  And it was starting to get on her nerves.  

The slayer barely suppressed a groan as she forced an apologetic smile onto her face.  "Sorry.  I ran into…"  She paused a moment, trying to decide exactly what to tell them.  If she told them Faith was back in town, they would ask why and then want to call her for an emergency Scooby meeting, and Buffy was way too tired to deal with all that at the moment.  "An old friend."

Well, it wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth.  And she was going to tell them she saw Faith, just….later.

Joyce studied her oldest for a long moment with a skeptical look.  She knew Buffy wasn't telling them something, she could tell by how her daughter was trying far too hard to look innocent.  Both her girls did that when they were telling on half truths.  Joyce wasn't nearly as blind as her children thought; she just knew when not to push things.  This was one such occasion.

"Oh," the middle-aged woman said, letting the subject drop with that.  She turned around slightly to the young man sitting on her living room floor, who was now playing with two small, furry purple and blue teddy bears he had found in the box before him.  "Andrew, could you please call the others and let them know we found her?"

The reddish-blond looked up at the request, and, for a moment, appeared as if he might protest.  But Joyce just smiled kindly, which caused him to sigh.  

"Yes, Mrs. Summers," he said, dropping the bears and heading for the phone.

Andrew picked up the cordless that laid on a nearby table and was just about to press the 'talk' button, when it suddenly began to ring.  Joyce barely suppressed a laugh when he jumped from surprise, and had to cover her mouth to hide her amused smile.

"Hello, Summers' residences," the young man said briskly, sounding like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be answering the phone.  Probably came from years of working at the Magic Box was the only reason Joyce could think of for his easy, friendly tone.  A confused look was momentarily etched on his face before he said, "This is Andrew.  Who's this?...Angel?  I don't know any Angel?"

The older blonde noticed her eldest perk up at the mention of her old boyfriend before heading across the room to Andrew.

"Give me the phone," Buffy demanded, holding out her hand.

Confusion was still on his face as he said to Angel, "Um, yeah, she's here.  Hang on a sec."

Joyce watched as the slayer snatched the phone away from the young man quickly, almost like she was a teenager again and her boyfriend was calling to confirm their date.  Well, maybe that wasn't the best analogy, considering that, even though Angel was her ex, Buffy was with someone else and carrying his child.  Still, the urgency behind the grab had reminded her mother of her teenage self.

"Angel?  What's going on?  What's wrong?" the younger blonde asked quickly, making it sound almost like a single sentence.  

There was a long pause as she listened to what he had to say, and the three other people present found themselves strangely drawn to the blonde slayer.  There was something going on, and they wanted to know what.  Andrew's confused look now found itself on Buffy's face as she listened.

"What?  What are you talking about?" she asked, not understanding.  

Joyce then watched as the confusion on her child's face melted away to shock and paleness.  She turned her large eyes up to her mother, but her chin fell towards the ground to leave her mouth hanging open.  For a moment, her mother thought that Buffy would fall to the ground.  She and Dawn quickly moved to her either side of her, but, as the Key went to help her sister remain standing, Joyce took the phone from her hand to see what had caused this.

"Hello?  Angel?"

There was a long pause with no sound made on either end.  When several long seconds passed in silence, Joyce was about to ask for the vampire again when another voice cut her off.

"Gram?"

********** 


	10. Found

_Part 10: Found_

Once upon a time, the Hyperion of LA had been a fine hotel.  During its hay day, the place had a full staff to keep her running smoothly, and several chefs so the kitchen could be opened and ready for business at any giving hour.  The lounge had been the place to be in the Flapper era, and had always been well stocked with the illegal substance that they enjoyed at the parties the owner threw.  But it wasn't only the partiers who had enjoyed the hotel.  Wealthy men had passed through its doors on more than one occasion, along with famous singers and stars, and even a dignitary or two had briefly called this place home.  

They would have never believed the place would some day be rendered almost empty, let alone become the headquarters to a detective agency that was run by a souled vampire, a seer, an ex-Watcher, a Texan quantum physicist, a aura reading demon, and a vampire hunter; all of whom had gathered in lobby to stare at the strange sight their boss had returned with.

They all knew the girl, thanks to the summers when Connor would bring her down with Dawn to show her the 'big city'.  She had played hide-and-seek with Lorne when she was younger in this very room.  She had sat in that very spot and listened to Wesley rattle on about the latest demon they were battling.  She had seen Fred and Gunn 'snogging' on the stairs, and had even seen Cordy steal a kiss or two from her dad's grandsire in the same place.  None of them had ever looked at her oddly or like she was out of place…until now.

Angel stood off to the side near the bottom of the stairs, watching the young girl that sat on his counter, munching on the pizza Gunn had brought while talking and laughing with Fred.  He still couldn't get over the fact that he had come across her like he had.  There was only one in a billion chance of that happening; yet there she sat.  

Cordy, who was standing next to him, turned and gave him a reassuring smile.  Well, the Powers had sent her that vision; maybe it was their way of saying it was time for the girl to come home.  Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.  This had all been too easy, too coincidental, too…anticlimactic.  

Feeling his eyes on her, Dylan looked up from Fred to the vampire who had been watching her.  The girl's blue eyes sparkled with mischief for a moment as the side of her lip curled up to a familiar smirk.  

Even now, after all these years, he still couldn't get over the fact that this girl, this child, belong to Buffy and his grandchilde.  True, there were things about her that did remind him of her mother-that pout of hers being the most obvious.  But the simple fact remained and it screamed at him every time he saw her…

"She looks just like Spike."  

Cordy blinked from surprise at the sudden statement and turned to look at the girl he had mentioned.  Now, it was true that the seer still didn't know the other soulful vampire as well as she should, considering how much time her 'stepson' spends with him and his family, but she had gotten to know the girl pretty well. From what she had seen, Dylan was out going and spunky, not to mention that smartass mouth of hers that reminded the seer of a teenage slayer she once knew.  Plus, Dylan seemed brave and didn't scare easily.

"She looks like Buffy," Cordy corrected.

Gunn, who had been sitting on the staircase, watched his boss and friend studying the little blonde girl Angel and Wesley had come home with.  He knew the way they were looking at her had something to do with who they thought she looked more like; his grandmother use to be the same way when it came to comparing him and his sister to her own son and his wife.  He turned his head to look at the girl on the counter next to his long time, on again/off again girlfriend, and smiled.

Rising from his seat, he went to join the vampire and seer and firmly stated, "Yo, with an appetite like that, she looks like your boy's honey."

The two turned back to the little girl and considered Gunn's comparison of her to Dawn just as Dylan started to down her third slice of pizza.  Yeah, she definitely had the Key's appetite, one that was large, but no where near that of Fred's. She just better hope she had Dawn's high metabolism as well.

"So, when are you leaving?" Cordy asked after a minute, breaking the silence once more.

Angel never took his eyes off the hungry child in front of him.  "In a little while.  I told Joyce I'd bring her home before sunrise."

He watched as the little girl giggled and laughed and acted as if she had just come down from Sunnydale to spend the weekend with them; not like she had been missing for the past seven months.  It was weird, her acting like this.  From what Giles and the others had told him, Travers was basically insane… that had to have done something to Dylan.  Yet, there she sat, acting like the same happy little girl that he had known since infancy.  

Part of him wanted to believe that she was alright, that she hadn't changed at all; but he knew that wasn't possible.  So that meant she was either putting on a show to appear like she was fine, or she was trying to block it all out.  Either way, it wasn't healthy.  He'd have to remember to talk to Buffy about it when they arrived.

"Dylan," Angel called, bringing the child's attention away from Fred.  

Her eyes were large and shining along with the smile on her face as she gently tilted her head to the side to consider the vampire.  Okay, so she looked like a cross between Buffy _and_ Spike.  

"It's time to go home."

********** 

Buffy stood in front of the kitchen sink, scrubbing the pot so hard that it was surprising that the finish was still on it.  The scolding hot water made her hands sting, but she hardly seemed to notice or care.  The radio that sat on the window seals edge was currently blasting a pop song in Spanish; the beat sometimes being thrown off by the clanging of metal against metal when the blonde would dunk the pot back into the soapy water and it would hit against the side of the sink.

She had an abundance of nervous energy, which she was trying to quench by scrubbing the cookware spotless.  She was also lost in her own world, doing her best not to think.  

Just scrub.  Scrub until the pot looks like new again.  Get those dirty scorch marks off.  Make it clean.  Make it shine.

This was the scene that Xander Harris walked in on.  His best friend, washing dishes as they waited.  God, they hated the waiting, every single one of them.  They just wanted this to be over with, to let their lives get back to normal for awhile.  

Yeah, Travers would still be out there, but maybe, just maybe, they could have a break, so Buffy could enjoy being pregnant again.  Lord knows she couldn't the first time, not really, and the second wasn't shaping up much better.  And she deserved to be happy for at least a little while.

The carpenter was thrown out of his own thoughts when he heard the pot she had been cleaning bang loudly in the sink as she threw it in.  Blinking, he saw her tilt her head downward, then cover her half her face with one of her yellow gloved hands.

"Hey, Buff, you okay?" Xander asked softly.

Upon hearing his voice, she straighten up and sniffled loudly, confirming that she had indeed been crying, or at least on the verge of it.

"Yeah, Xan, I'm fine," she called over her shoulder, pulling the plastic gloves off her hands and dropping them in the sink.

Okay, something was obviously up.  Her daughter was coming home after being kidnapped by some psycho ex-Watcher, and she was acting like it was the end of the world or something.  He couldn't understand what was wrong.  If it had been Jessie, he'd be bouncing off the walls, checking the clock every three seconds and calling Angel's cell ever two, just to be sure they were on their way and everything was okay.  Yet, here Buffy stood, crying in the kitchen while scrubbing pots and pans?  He just didn't get it.

"Hey, Buff, Dill's coming home," he smiled goofily, trying to lighten her dark mood.  "Break out the party hats, right?  Cause it's of the good.  Isn't it?"

"Of course," she answered, turning her confused and somewhat angered face towards him.  Whatever had her upset seemed to be momentarily forgotten because of his question, which was what he was hoping for in the first place.

"Then why aren't you Snoopy Dance Girl?" he asked, as he leaned against the kitchen's island.  

Buffy blinked several times at her friend.  He looked like Xander.  He had Xander's voice even.  But since when did Xander Harris become all Serious Looking, Deeper Guy?

Taking in a deep breath, she let it out quickly.  "I don't know, Xan.  It's just…I mean, I don't…I'm…"  The slayer sighed again and dropped her gaze from his.

"Nervous?" the young man offered helpfully.

"Scared," Buffy corrected.  "I mean, Dylan, she's going to be…different. I know she is.  And, and I don't know what to do.  I don't know if I'll be able to help her.  And then, on top of that, I've got to worry about the baby and Travers and that stupid cult and, and that guy Kenneth Shelton and-!"

"Whoa, hey.  Breathe, okay?" Xander said, cutting off the slayer's ramblings before she got herself even more worked up.  Confusion became etched on his face as something she just said registered in his mind.  "Cult?  What cult?  And who's Kenneth what's-his-face?"

Buffy groaned again, not having heard what her friend had asked.  Knowing that she wasn't going to answer his question, the carpenter decided that it was best just to stick to the supportive friend part as of right now.

"Buffy, you know we're here, right?" he told her, going back to his gentle tone from earlier.  "Me and Wills and everyone, standing right behind you, ready to do what we can to help.  No matter what.  And - God, I always thought I'd be roasting in some dark part of hell before I'd ever say this – but Spike-"

"Oh, God!  Spike!" the blonde suddenly exclaimed, her eyes growing wide.  

Xander shivered a little at the statement, his mind venturing into an ugly place at the phrase.  Lord, he hoped she'd never say that around him every again.  

Buffy, however, failed to notice his discomfort.  "I forgot to call him!  I can't believe I forgot.  He's going to have a fit!"

She headed out of the kitchen, presumably to go upstairs to call the annoying vampire, but paused in the doorway that led to the dinning room.

"Thanks, Xander," she said.

"Glad I could help," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure what he had said that was useful besides the usual 'I'll be there for you' stuff.  

With one last smile, she turned back around and continued on her way.

*********** 

"Where is she off to in such a hurry?" Dawn asked, as she watched her sister charge up the stairs like a teenager running for her room.

It had been nearly two hours since the phone call, and the entire Scooby gang had gathered in the Summers' living room.  Well, nearly the entire Scooby gang, with some notable exceptions.  But being on the other side of the country was a pretty good excuse.  Not great, but good enough the Key supposed.

The kids weren't there either; instead they were presumably all at Anya's driving their poor babysitter, Clem, up the wall until their parents' return.  Well, that's to say, they had left the three children with him at her and Xander's house, that's not to say they were still there at the moment.  Dawn herself had been left in the care of the floppy skinned demon a few times when she was younger and knew for a fact that they didn't always stay where they were supposed too.  

She just hoped that he remembered that Cash and Jessie did have a knack for getting into trouble, so he better keep an eye on them no matter what.  Van, though…hell, they could do whatever they wanted and Van would be good to go.  The young boy really was proving that one can be a product of their environment because he was just like Oz…only shorter.

The adults were now just waiting, making the place feel more like a waiting room at the hospital than the home Dawn had basically grew up in.  The young college student was seated on the couch next to her mother, with Oz on the other end.  Willow was in front of him, leaning against his legs as he gently stroked the back of her head.  The ex-witch looked tired and worried, but seemed to be calmed by his touch.

The sight of them like that caused Dawn to frown.  She knew it was stupid, that Tara would have wanted Willow to move on and be happy, but a part of her had felt for the longest time like the redhead was sort of cheating on the other Wicca when she and Oz were close like that.  Yeah, he had been Willow's boyfriend first, and Dawn herself had always liked the werewolf…she just liked Tara better.  But she should remember Willow being happy is what matters.  At least, that's how Tara would have seen it.

Andrew was sitting on one of her mother's dinning chairs, his head dropped backwards in an uncomfortable looking position while his jaw hung open.  Leave it to him to sleep at a time like this.

Anya had taken over the chair that matched the couch, looking very much like she herself might be joining Andrew in dreamland.  That is, until Xander came back out of the kitchen, sat down on the armchair's arm, and shoved a Coke can into his wife's face.  She blinked a bit from its sudden appearance, but took it with little protest.

"She had a call she forgot to make," the carpenter told the slayer's sister, making himself more comfortable on the side of the chair.  "She should be back down in a minute."

"She forgot to call Spike, didn't she?" Dawn asked, already knowing the answer to that question.

"Would you believe me if I said it was Giles?"

"God, I can't believe she forgot to call him!" the college student groaned, leaning further back into the couch.  "He should have been, like, the first one she called!"

"Give her a break, Dawnie.  She's got a lot on her mind," Xander defended.

"Yeah, Dawn," Willow joined in, as she reached over and touched the younger woman's knee.  "This is a lot for her and, and it's not like we, you know, thought about him either."

Dawn frowned a bit at the reminder.  She hadn't thought about calling him either, or Giles or Connor for that matter.  She didn't know why, it just seemed like a thing someone else would remember to do for them sooner than now.

A knock at the door drew their attention away from the discussion.  As Andrew snorted awake from the noise, the rest of the group exchanged a look as if to silently ask if they should wait for Buffy.  The thought, however, didn't seem to register in Dawn's mind as she jumped up from her seat to answer it with the rest of them following after her.

The brunette quickly opened the door, her eyes cast downward in the expectation of seeing her niece standing there.   Instead, she found someone else.

"Faith?" Dawn blinked.  "What are you doing here?"

"Well, hey to you too, brat," the dark-haired slayer said with a grin, making her way into the house without being asked.  Once inside, she glanced around the room at the surprised Scoobies, then said, "Buffy sure didn't waste time gatherin' the troops."

"Huh?" the college student asked, not following along whatsoever.  "What are you talking about?"

This time, Faith joined in with the confused looking.  "What?  B didn't tell you I was comin'?"

"Um, no," Dawn answered, glancing around the room from face to face to make sure everyone else was as much in the dark as she.

The brunette slayer made a sound that was a cross between a snort and 'hum', then headed into the living room, the Scoobies following along behind.   Flopping down into the armchair that Anya had recently occupied, Faith picked up the nearby Coke can and took a sip.  "So what's with the Super Friends gatherin' then?"

"We're waiting for someone," Anya told her, glaring at the former rogue slayer.

The onetime vengeance demon had never made it a secret that she didn't like Faith, which was a constant source of amusement in the natural brunette's eyes.  Anya saw through her repetitive façade right down to what her real agenda was.  She wanted Xander back.  

Oh, yeah, they both go on about how they're just friends now, but Anya knew.  Faith wanted her life.  Why else would just breeze in here, go straight for the chair that the ex-demon had been sitting in all night and steal the Coke that Xander had brought for her? Next thing she'll be offering her husband a sip of the drink and it's just a hop, skip, and jump away from Anya finding herself bricked into a wall at the Magic Shop while Faith becomes the new Mrs. Harris and starts to raise her children!

Xander looked over at his wife as she possessively wrapped her arm around his and began to squeeze his hand as tightly as she could.  Great, Faith hadn't even been back for five minutes and Anya was already getting paranoid over her again.  The carpenter couldn't help but wonder which delusion she was having this time.  The one where Faith pulled a 'Hand That Rock's the Cradle', or the one where she seals her up in the wall at the Magic Box.  Lord, he'd have to remember to start monitoring what she read and watched again.

"Yeah?" the brunette asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned forward in the chair.  "Who?"

"Me, I think."

The group turned around back to the foyer and found a little girl standing there.  Her hands were dug down in a small pair of jeans while a shirt that was far too big for her seemed to be trying to devour her tiny body.  Her once soft blonde curls had started to darken, probably from being in the dark more than the sun, and the healthy tan that active children usually have had faded as well.  She had changed so much that Joyce, Dawn or any of them wouldn't be able to recognize her right away on the street.

The Scoobies, for their part, were staring at her like there was a deadly snake at her feet and they needed to approach her as carefully as possible.  Glancing nervously and semi-awkwardly away from them, then over to Angel who stood in the doorway, Dylan grinned and lifted her hand with a small wave.

"Um…hi?"

A squeak from the top of the stairs drew the child's attention away from the group.  She looked up to see the very pregnant blonde slayer standing there, watching the child in much the same fashion as the Slayerettes.

"Dylan?" Buffy breathed, as if hardly daring to hope it was actually her.

However, the child didn't seem to take notice, and began to smile brightly.

"Hi, Mommy."

*********** 

Connor sat on the couch, watching Giles as he went through the box of samples that one of the cult shops had given him.  There was a wide assortment of mystical things on the small table of the hotel room, ranging from a bit of dirt from around some great Vodoo Queen's crypt, to tiny, funny looking dolls with pins in them.  

Connor wasn't exactly sure what dolls with pins in them would be to anyone, but Giles had seemed pleased enough with them.  Spike had called them 'Vengeance Demon Barbie', but they didn't look like any Barbies that the Destroyer had ever seen.  Well, maybe he'd give one to Jessie for her birthday, since she collected those plastic versions of women.

A few minutes earlier, the young man had heard the phone ring, but neither he nor Giles had made a move to get it.  They both knew it was Buffy, since she called about this time every night, and Spike had picked it up in the attached bedroom. Which reminded him, he needed to call Dawn later tonight or tomorrow, else he might be looking for a new girlfriend soon.

"Hey, Giles.  Do you want to get some crawfish for dinner tonight?" he asked with a grin, leaning back in his seat.  Angel's son knew the answer full well, but he had been hanging out with Spike for far too long and felt like aggravating the Watcher while they waited for the vampire so they could go head out for patrol.

The older Englishman never looked up from the trinkets he had been prowling through, but Connor could see a frown on his face.  "I prefer we dine on something that does not look at me while I'm eating it," he answered evenly.

"Well, we could get it deep fried, then they won't be looking at you," Connor continued to tease.  "Just don't sit across from me, cause then it'll have its beady little eyes staring right at you while I suck its head."

The young man had to literally bit down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing as Giles visibly shuttered at the thought, then turned a heated look up to him.  "Connor!"

"WHAT!?!" a surprised, nearly frantic, voice boomed from the other room.

Instinctively, the younger man jumped to his feet, as if ready for an attack from the other room at any moment.  The Watcher, too, had taken guard, forgetting all about the discussion he had been engaged in and the objects before him.

A few moments later, Spike stalked out of the other room with an odd look on his face.  It something of a cross between upset, relieved, dazed, and 'I need to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.'

As he began to collect various belongings of theirs that were strung about, he ordered, "Get your things.  We're leavin'. Now."

"What?" Giles stuttered, taken aback by this sudden announcement as much as Connor.  The older man's face became stern as he demanded, "For where?"

The tone of his voice was what caused Spike to pause in his task and acknowledge the Watcher's presence.  

"Home."

********** 


	11. Secrets and Lies

********** 

_Part 11: Secrets and Lies_

Buffy sat on the front porch swing, her bare feet lifting up and down as she gently pushed herself.  The night was warm and sweet with the smell of blooming flowers and salt water from the ocean.  It was a relaxing scent, one that she would have liked to savor, especially considering that there were quite a few smells that she used to love that now made her sick.  But this one was nice, calming even.

Things that night had basically became one big blur to her.  Everything was happening so fast, and after months that passed so painfully slow, it was extremely disorienting.  One minute, she had been sitting in the Magic Box with Willow, praying that Spike and Giles would find just one little clue to Dylan's whereabouts; the next her daughter was sitting in the living room, laughing with the Scoobies over experiences and misadventures that had occurred during her absence.  Of course, Dylan herself was being pretty tight lipped about what had happened to her, but they were all in too good of a mood to listen anyway.

The slayer had retreated to the front porch whenever she felt it was becoming too much for her.  She hadn't lied to Xander, Dylan being home was a great thing, but she found herself worrying just as much as she had when the child was missing.  Things were different now; her daughter was, just as much as Buffy herself.  She knew what Dylan had done; it had to do something to her and none of it could be good.  

"Buffy?"

The pregnant blonde turned to see Angel standing in the front door.  She could hear Xander's voice floating out into the night air telling the story of how Cash had discovered a nail and a hammer can effectively seal a big sister in her own room.

The older vampire stepped out onto the porch and carefully pulled the door closed behind him.  He sighed at the sight of her.  There had been times when they had been together, especially that wonderful day he had spent with her when he was human, where he had imaged what she would look like carrying a child.  It was more beautiful than anything he could have ever dreamed.  Even if she was carrying…_his_ child, it didn't take away from the beauty of it.

She offered a weak smile; casting her eyes down to the floor in front of her while he came to join her on the swing.  The sweet rocking motion she had set was interrupted when he sat down, causing her bare feet to scrap more sharply against the floor than she liked.  Still, Buffy said nothing, and they soon found the rhythm she had set again.

They stayed that way for a long time, neither one of them saying a word.  Just pushing back and forth silently.

Angel suppressed the urge to frown.  Ten years ago, he would have only had to look at her to know what she was thinking.  Her face had always been an open book to him.  Now, sitting right next to her, he couldn't tell what she thought.  Though, he could guess and would probably be pretty close if he did.

"She seems happy," Buffy mused aloud, allowing a little insight into her train of thought and confirming Angel's suspicions.

"Yeah," he agreed.  "She does."

"That's not good.  Is it?"

Drawing a deep, unneeded breath, the soulful vampire let it out slowly.  "No.  I don't think it is."

The silence returned, making the only sound disturbing the night the chains that held the swing pulling at the wood it held.  If what he had said had affected her, she didn't let it show.  Her gaze was fixed on her rounded stomach as she thought, her hands covering it as if she was afraid someone was going to try and hurt the child inside.

"Angel," she said again, her voice just as soft as before.  "How did you find her?"

Shrugging a little, he said, "Cordy had a vision of a kid at a train station fighting some demons. Me and Wesley went to go check it out and, well, there she was."

"Was there a boy with her?  About ten with brown hair?"

He thought a moment, trying to recall such a person's presence earlier that night.  "I don't think so.  Why?"

"Just curious."

Buffy sighed at that news.  If Sebastian wasn't with Dylan, then that meant Travers had sent her out on her own.  If he had, then he was probably starting to wonder where she was.  That meant, he would be looking for her soon and he would probably come right back to Sunnydale to find her.  More danger, even more reason to be wary.  

Spike would kill her if he knew what she was about to say, but she just wanted them to be safe.  He would understand if she explained, but that would be after the screaming and the fit pitching and the threats of staking and being doused in holy water.  That was to say, if he ever found out that she asked, which was so not happening if she had anything to say about it.

"Can I ask a favor?" She looked up from her swollen belly and to her old love.  

"Sure," he answered, settling himself back into a comfortable position even though he was rather curious about what she wanted.

"Stay."

Okay, he wasn't expecting that.

"Buffy-."

"Not for me," she said, cutting him off before he could continue that line of thought.  

As Cordelia used to say, ego much?  She already had someone, and so did he; the thought of her leaving Spike, while carrying his child, was beyond laughable.  It was like… preposterously absurd.  Oh, Giles would be proud of that one.

"Well, kind of for me, but not what you're thinking."  Buffy sighed as she tried to think of the best way to explain.  "I want you to stay to help protect her, from…you know.  And there are other things going on here that really need our attention, which is why Faith is here, so we could really use your help right now."

"I don't know, Buffy."

"It'll only be until the baby is born, then I can take over again," the blonde quickly added.

"What about Spike?  What'll he say about this?"

"Probably some colorful British words that only he and Giles would understand; then he'll think about, cuss some more, and won't come around until I finally threaten him."

Angel tried not to smile, he really did, but he couldn't help it.

"You know him pretty well, huh?"

"He's not as hard to figure out as you think," she smiled.  "Giles trying to be funny, now _that is hard to figure out sometimes.  But Spike, not so much."_

The silence returned, but was more comfortable now.  More like it used to be when she was younger and Angel had been the one she turned to.  But it wasn't the same kind of silence they shared then.  Now, she was asking as a friend, nothing more.

"So, you staying?" she asked again.  

The dark-haired vampire sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.  God, Spike was going to go ballistic.  Well, that would be a nice little reward for him for bringing Dylan back.

"Sure.  LA's been dead lately anyway."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brilliant smile flash across her face before she leaned over and gave him a light, friendly kiss on the cheek.  

When she was young, the gesture of placing her lips against him would have sent chills of excitement through her.  But now, it was almost like kissing…Xander.  Or Giles.  Or even Andrew!  Huh, guess that really meant that she was completely and totally over him.  Not that she didn't think she was in the first place, but she had proof now.

"Thank you," she said, still smiling a bit.  "But you better not tell Spike I asked you to stay or you'll get to see why everyone is afraid of a pregnant, pissed off slayer."

********** 

Dylan sat on the back porch, staring up into the nearly pitch black night.  The sun would be up soon, and she had yet to go to bed.  Not that that looked like a possibility anytime soon, considering that her house had been invaded by the gang.  She wasn't used to all these people, not anymore anyway.  After it being just her and Sebastian for so long, all these people just seemed a bit too…overwhelming.

"Hey," a voice said from behind her.

The young girl barely turned in her seat to find her mother standing underneath the back porch light, which seemed to make her glow unnaturally.  Of course, she had been that way since she and the others had snapped out of their trances and welcomed the child home; Buffy even more so thanks to her current condition.

"Hey," the girl answered, watching her mom make her way across the porch and sit down next to her.  Well, it was more like maneuvered her way down next to her, with Dylan's help.

"Had to get out of there, huh?"

The child cut her eyes to the side and shrugged, letting the slayer know she was right.

Buffy sighed slightly, placing her hand on top of her enlarged belly.  "I've been there a couple of times."

Dylan turned to the blonde slayer and grinned, knowing Buffy actually did know what she was talking about.  Her blue eyes then began to travel downward until they came to rest on the large, physical change that had occurred in the older woman since they had last seen one another.

"You didn't look too surprised about this." Buffy patted her stomach to emphasize what she meant.

The child looked back up into her mother's hazel eyes.  "Bastian told me.  He just kind of didn't tell me you were, you know, that big."

She laughed softly. "Because I wasn't.  Your little brother has grown a lot since then."

"Brother?"

"That's what Willow says."

Confusion found its way onto Dylan face as she asked, "Didn't she also say that Cash was going to be a girl?"

Chuckling again, Buffy answered, "That's what Anya rants."

This time, the young girl laughed with her mother.  Apparently, the ex-demon had been dwelling on that much longer than the slayer had thought.  God, poor Xander.  When her giggles began to subside, Dylan's face slowly melted into a more serious, yet worried form.  

"Buffy, do they…know?" she asked carefully.  She caught the look in her mother's eyes from her already resorting back to calling her by her first name, but ignored it.

Slowly, the slayer shook her head. "No.  They don't."

Relief and what almost looked like hope sprang to the child's once serious face as she stiffened a little but went on.  "W-what about Dad?  Did you tell him?"

Buffy reached over, pushed some of the child's hair behind her ears, and smiled a sweet but sad smile.  "No, baby.  I didn't tell him either," she informed her daughter, sounding an awful lot like Joyce Summers at the moment.

Though the child felt like jumping up and down, she instead blinked and heard herself ask, "Why?"

"I don't know," Buffy sighed, but quickly amended.  "I just don't think there is any point in them knowing."  She reached over and pulled the child to her side, letting her curl her blonde head so it rested on her shoulder.  "Listen to me.  That night-."  Dylan began to pull away from her, but the slayer held strong.  "No, listen to me.  That night, you didn't do anything wrong.  That guy was going to kill you, and you just defended yourself."

"How can you say that?!" the little girl demanded, pulling away to look her mother in the face.  "You're a slayer.  You're not supposed to kill humans no matter what!"  Sighing, the girl leaned back against the step.  "Beside, it's not like you know what it's like."

"Actually, I do," her mother corrected.  

That got Dylan's attention, as she turned her wide eyes towards her for an explanation.  Buffy nodded to indicate that she had heard her right. 

"It was a long time ago, when you were still a baby.  Your dad had gone off for awhile, and I was staying with some good friends of ours in Spain with you.  Some very nasty men broke into the house, and were trying to hurt us."

"So you killed them?"

"They didn't give me any choice.  It was them or us."  The slayer reached over and gently ran her hand down the back of the girl's head, until finally coming to rest halfway down her back.  "I didn't want to hurt them, but I knew we would be if I didn't stop them.  It was the same with you.  He was going to hurt you.  You know that."

Buffy watched as Dylan drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, considering what she had said to her.  There was a difference between self defense and murder; she just hoped the child was old enough to understand it.  Even if she did sound like a grownup more often then not, she was still a kid.  

"Buffy," she finally said after several long moments.  Slowly, she turned to face her mother again, but had a small smile on her face this time.  "Thank you."

Bending over, the slayer tenderly kissed the girl on the forehead, and rubbed her back softly.  They were still like that when the backdoor tore open forcefully, bringing both women's attention to it.  Spike stood there, staring at Dylan with wide eyes.  For the love of God, she was not going through that look thing again.

"Daddy!" she chirped happily, jumping up from her seat and literally lunging herself into his arms.  

Buffy couldn't help but smile as she watched the pair.  The way he was clinging onto her made the slayer think back to that time in high school with vampire Willow, and how Giles had literally attached himself to the redhead when he found out she was indeed alive.  Only, Dylan was hugging him back, not standing there awkwardly wondering what-in-the-hell was going on.

After several long seconds, the little blonde girl choked out, "Um, Dad, you might not need to breathe, but I do."

Adhering to his daughter's request, Spike pulled away, but continued to hold her by the arms and knelt before her.  The last time he had done that, he was nearly looking her in the eye at that height.  Now, he had to bend his head back to look up into her eyes.  God, she must have grown a full three inches, if not more, since she was taken.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" he ordered, shaking her a little to emphasize his point.  "Or I'm goin' to rip out your spleen and feed it to that bloody cat!"

Dylan giggled at her father's threat.  It wasn't the first time she had heard it.

"I'm not foolin'," Spike told her, his voice taking on a much more worried, soft tone.  "Do you have any idea how worried your mum was?  Why it was all I could do to keep her from killin' every demon between here and Timbuktu lookin' for you.  Course, I wasn't worried.  Knew you'd take care of yourself 'til we found you and violently and painfully killed that wanker."

She laughed again. "Dad, I do know what that word means, you know."

"Guess I better stop usin' it then, eh?" 

"Not if you don't tell Buffy what it is," she whispered with a wicked grin that matched his own a little to well.

Spike returned the smile with a slight shake of his head.  

Yeah, she was definitely his kid. 

********** 

Sebastian stood at the window, staring out into the dark night.  Things had been quiet for the past several days since Dylan 'left' and he found himself once more in this large house.  He had forgotten exactly how long they had waited there before, but he knew that it wouldn't be that long this time.  He was glad for that.  The boy didn't think he'd be able to take their 'company' for too long.  

Turning his head, Bastian watched the two adults sitting on the furniture in front of the empty fireplace.

Grandfather had nestled himself into the oversized chair, a glass of Scotch in one hand and some dusty old book in the other.  He wasn't reading it; Sebastian could tell by the way the old man kept lifting his eyes towards the middle-aged woman across from him.  Something about her was putting Travers on edge, and, from the kid's experience, that was never a good thing.

Not that he cared for the woman, either.  Everything about her screamed upper-class; the high priced outfit and matching shoes, the way she crossed her ankles instead of her legs, even that Jaclyn Kennedy haircut. But there was more to her than that.  

Diana lifted her dark eyes from the cross stitching she was doing and looked over to the boy in the window.   A small smile barely touched her lips, which sent a shiver down Sebastian's back.  When she looked at you, it was like…like someone seeing right to your very soul.  It was completely unnerving, for anyone.

One of the servants - well, servants really wasn't the word for it.  Followers would fit better – opened the door that lead into the library, allowing the final member inside.  

Sebastian supposed he fancied himself the leader, considering that most people followed his orders or Diana's without question.  Maybe he was.  He told Grandfather what to do, Grandfather told Sebastian, and Sebastian did it…most of the time.  Funny thing was he never ordered Bastian directly.  Perhaps because he knew that he wouldn't follow them, and, truthfully, if they didn't come from Travers, he wouldn't.  The boy had long ago decided that enough people were ordering him around, he surely didn't need anymore.

"Hello, my darling." 

Kenneth walked up behind Diana, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek.  She smiled, leaning into the kiss before he pulled away and glanced down at the cross-stitching she had been working on all night.  

"Is that for Philip?"

"Do think he'll like it?" she asked hopefully, holding it up higher so he could have a better look.

Still smiling, he walked around the side of the couch, sat down next to her, and pulled Diana close.  "Of course he will, darling," he assured her with another kiss.  "You're his mother.  He'll love anything you give him."

Sebastian glanced over at Grandfather at the statement, and was surprised to find that the old man was already staring at him.  The Watcher's eyes gave far too much away.  He needed to be more careful when dealing with these two, especially her.

"Well, things went well for me tonight," Kenneth announced happily, turning his attention back to the older gentleman across from him.  "How are things on your end, Travers?"

The old man quickly snapped his attention back to the couple once addressed, leaving Bastian once again to just watch the conversation from his perch by the window.

"Well, as far as I can tell."  Glancing down to his wrist, what could almost pass as relief passed over Grandfather's face as he stood up and gave an apologetic smile two adults.  "In fact, I do believe it is time to see how well things are going.  So, if you'll be so kind as to excuse me."

Not waiting for an answer, the old man quickly made his exit.  Kenneth and Diana watched him leave, before turning their attention towards one another.

"He doesn't like us," she said, going back to her stitching.  "He or…" 

Lifting her eyes once again, they came to rest on the still staring Bastian.  Both the child and the woman had even looks on their faces as they did their best to win the battle of wills.  Finally, she dropped her eyes back to her work, letting Bastian have the win.  

"The boy."

Sighing, the middle-aged man pulled his wife a little closer to him, ignoring the fact that they had an audience all together.  

"Don't worry, darling.  They are here to help us and little Philip, remember?  Why, we wouldn't be here had it not been for them."

Diana continued to frown and said, "I still don't like them."  Her hard gaze continued to silently threaten the boy, who had not moved, nor had they bothered to try and hide their personal feelings from him.  "Especially him."

_Don't like you either, lady_, Sebastian thought.  

A satisfying smirk came to rest on his face when he saw her eyes narrow a little.  God, he was glad Dylan showed him how to play with a psychic before she left.  Apparently, she learned if from her father, who had picked it up after a century with that nutso Drusilla.  Well, anyway, she learned it and he was happy she shared the secret with him because riling Diana was fun.  He'd just have to remember to be careful.  Women like her generally turn out to be a bit crazy too.

Turning his attention back to the window, Sebastian sighed to himself.  Well, nothing left to do now but wait.

********** 

Walking into her bedroom, Dylan sighed.  It was almost exactly as she left it, except the clothes she had left scattered on the floor were gone, and her usually messy bed had been made up.  Gram must have cleaned up for her while she was gone.  Everything else, however, remained the same.

Mr. Gordo still stood guard on her bed.  Her old stuffed dog sat in the chair beside the window.  School books that she had hoped would be burned in her absence rested on the corner of her dresser.  And the cutesy posters that Jessie had tacked up in an attempt to make her room look more 'girly' still hung on the walls.  Even her laptop had remained sitting on her nightstand, as if waiting for her to turn it on.

She could hear the adults downstairs talking with one another, mainly about how her dad was able to get there as fast as he did.  He had said something about Giles doing some sort of spell to transport him home, but Dylan really hadn't been listening. Then Anya had started to rave about how much energy that kind of spell takes and how 'if Spike killed Giles before he gave her the numbers to the business connections in New Orleans, she was going to have Faith dust him.' 

Dylan was tired, and really just wanted to get some sleep.

Instead, she flopped down on her bed, picked up her laptop, and signed on, all the while yawning.  It took her a few minutes longer to get to the site she wanted, and almost instantly she received a message.

**ChessMaster****: You're late, Poppet.**

**Poppet: Sorry.  Took longer than I thought.**

**ChessMaster****: So, everything is going accordingly then?**

The child sighed again as she glanced over to a photo that had been sitting behind the laptop.  Her family was smiling back at her at the party they had held after her mother's return.  Even Oz and Van were grinning, which was a strange sight indeed.  Reaching over, she placed the photo face down.  She didn't want them to see.

**Poppet: Yeah.  They don't suspect a thing.**

**ChessMaster****: _Yeah_?**

**Poppet: Sorry.  I mean, yes, Grandfather.**

********** 


	12. Dog Days of Summer

_Part 12: Dog Days of Summer_

Kenneth sighed as he walked out into the late afternoon, the heat hitting the middle-aged man hard and causing him to clear his throat.  It was an unnatural heat; nothing like a June afternoon should be like.  Yes, summer and heat go together, hand in hand, but not like this.  He couldn't even imagine it being this hot on the surface of the sun itself.

Kenneth frowned as he walked into one of the gardens and found his wife sitting in front of the large statue yet again.  The concrete that had been poured to make pathways through the flower beds had steam sizzling up from the water that had accidentally leaked onto it when the gardens had been watered.  It appeared hell itself was trying to break free from under his lovely bride's feet, and yet she failed to notice.  She didn't even seem to care that her fashionable outfit had started to cling to her body, which really caused Mr. Shelton's concern about Diana to rise.

"Darling," he called, trotting up behind her.  "It's awfully hot.  Why don't you come inside with me?  I'll have Nathaniel bring us some lemonade, and we can look in on Travers and his-."

"He's coming soon." She rose to her feet and continued to stare at the statue.  Then, she turned to face her husband, her face neutral, if not a bit excited.  "Very soon."

"Philip?"

"Our son," Diana corrected, unable to stop the smile that appeared on her lips.  She glanced over her shoulder to the sculpture, as if it had given her this wonderful news and she couldn't thank it enough.  "He'll be here on the solstice." 

"The solstice!"  When she nodded her head, he hurried forward, grabbed her by the arms, and forced her to turn and look at him again.  "That's tomorrow.  Are you absolutely positive?"

She smiled at him, a hint of seduction on her lips.  

"As sure as I am that the sun will be burning when he arrives."  

Lazily, she rolled her head towards the cliff that overlooked the town below.  Pulling out of his grasp, she took a few steps forward for a better view, her eyes sparkling darkly as she spoke. 

"It's amazing, isn't it?  The day Travers' Angel arrived, the world froze for the pure snow to fall and greet her.  And that star shone in the night sky to tell the world that a champion for good had arrived.  Funny how one man, one that was supposed to help save the world by _helping_ her, changed all that because of a taste of power, isn't it?"

"Power is intoxicating," Kenneth said with a shrug.  "We know that."

"Yes, it's always about the power," Diana agreed in a low voice.  She sighed loudly, then turned back to her husband.  "And now, thanks to that wonderful man, that little Angel is going to help bring us ours.  One to save."

"One to end."  He grinned, taking a hold of his wife's waist and pulling her against him.  Dropping his face next to her ear, the middle-aged man whispered as if it was the most seductive thing in the world. "One to freeze."

"And one to burn."  She growled before capturing her lips with his.

********** 

Sebastian frowned as he watched the couple in the garden from his perch in the second story window.  He hadn't heard what they had said, not being this far away; plus, with the air-conditioning and fans running throughout the manor, it would be nearly impossible to hear them even if they were yelling.  However, the boy knew what Diana had told Kenneth.  She had faced him long enough for Bastian to catch it.  

They were out of time.  _He_ was out of time.

Glancing over his shoulder, the young boy looked at the old man sitting at the desk.  

Damn him.  How many lives had to be ruined or lost to give him what he wanted?  Ten?  Ten thousand?  The whole world?  And for what?

Power.  That's what Diana had said, and, for once, Sebastian agreed with her.  Every single one of them was in it for the power, and none of them seemed to realize that they would never get it.  

They were all puppets, not puppet masters.  Travers pulled his strings.  The old man had foolishly attached himself to the couple in the garden, so they pulled his.  And, from somewhere out there, something was pulling theirs.  It was an endless succession of puppeteers, all of them using the others to gain the power.

Well, Pinocchio was tired of this show.  Jiminy had come into his life, and instead of listening to the conscious, he had let it be crushed and turned into something no better than him.  Not anymore.  It was time to cut the strings and become a real boy.

It was also time for him to stop watching those stupid Disney movies.

********** 

There were things in life that nature just did not intend to mix: jocks and band members, plaid and poke-o-dots, Star Trek fans and Star War fans.  These things just did not play well together.  They were mismatches.  Objects of the universe that were best left as far away from each other as possible, yet they always ended up being thrown together in the end.  Together, they made things wrong.  They made things uncomfortable.  They made things unbearable for those caught in the cross fire.  But none of these were as bad as a pregnant woman in the middle of summer.

"Ugh! Hot!" Buffy whined loudly. 

Throwing the thin sheet off her body, she rolled over onto her side.  The small fan set up beside the bed was now blowing directly in her face before twisting to move down the length of her body.  It helped a little…very little.  Okay, hardly at all.  Her mother's old room still felt like a sweat box, even with the AC turned all the way down, the fans turned all the way up, and the considerable lack of clothing.

The living arrangements had changed over the past month, trying to accommodate everyone who was now calling Revello Drive home.  Dylan and Dawn had gotten to keep theirs, but the rest of them had spent the better part of a month trying to adjust to their new rooms.

Joyce had given her daughter and Spike her old bedroom, claiming that they would need the bigger room for when the baby comes so they could fit a crib in there.  Buffy had felt bad about taking it, but the older woman had also pointed out that it made more sense because she was usually in LA or New York anyway.  She was more of a guest now than a resident, and they needed the space.

Another reason her mother had insisted on the couple taking her room was because it was connected to Dawn's.  Once she moved back to campus in the fall, they were going to make her room into the nursery.  Well, she wasn't so much moving back to campus as moving in with Connor in a few months, but they hadn't told Spike that yet.  With any luck, they never would either.

Joyce herself had moved down the hall into the old storage room across the hall from Dylan.  It was much smaller, barely more than a closet with a window.  But once the junk had been moved to the attic, the twin bed fitted into the room nicely and she still had a little space to put her stuff.

And Angel was crashing down in the basement, Spike's old place of residence.  Buffy knew he didn't like it down there - and that Spike didn't like him being here period - but he had to make due with what they had.  Her ex had stayed on after bringing Dylan home, per her request, especially after they had found out why Faith was there.  Throw in the fact that Buffy was about to give birth, and it would probably take an act of God to make the soulful champion leave.  And that only came with a probably, leaving heavily towards 'still not a chance in hell.'

"It's a heat wave, love," Spike said with a grin, tugging on his black T-shirt before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her.  "It tends to get a little warm durin' those."

"Shut up!" Buffy glared at him.  "It's your fault anyway."

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours."

"Don't remember orderin' up the heat, pet," he said, not following her line of thinking at all.

The slayer made a showing of rolling her eyes before pushing herself up to a sitting position, mainly resting on her elbows.  

"Not that, you bloodsucking moron.  This."  She swept one hand over her stomach, which looked like it was ready to pop.  "You didn't tell me you could go around having all the kids you wanted."

"How the bloody hell was I supposed to know?" Spike exclaimed, an equal amount of amusement and aggravation in his tone.  Though his eyes were slightly narrowed, his trademark smirk played on his lips as he continued.  "Besides, I didn't get you there all by my lonesome, kitten.  As I recall, you were pretty involved yourself."

"I'm still never going to let you near me again once bitty here is born."

"Bitty?" he replied chuckling.  "I think you've been hangin' around us Brits too long, pet."

She couldn't help but grin back.  

"No disagreement here.  My life has been nothing but one big British invasion since I got called.  First Giles.  Then the Council.  Wesley.  You.  It's a regular whose who of crusty English guys."

"Watch it, Slayer."

"I'm just saying that I guess I was bound to pick something up.  Okay, I mean language wise, not…what you're thinking." She smiled as he began to laugh.  "I mean, Giles is like my dad, only, you know, way better than my real one."  Then adding as an after thought, she said, "And we're practically married."

The playful air they had been enjoying suddenly wasn't so playful anymore at the mention of the 'M' word.  To be truthful, neither one of them had ever really thought about it.  The very idea sounded rather ludicrous.  

Spike was a vampire and vampires don't marry…anyone.  They mate, which was close to the same thing, but different at the same time.  With a mate, you didn't have a big ceremony, with family and friends there to watch – at least not if you're normal.  

And, while it was recognized by the demon community, it wasn't in the human.  A W2 form doesn't read "Married, Single, Mated" on it.  And one certainly didn't go up to old friends and says, 'Oh, we got mated last October.  We claimed each other on my mother's kitchen floor after having mind blowing sex.  You really should have been there.  It was quite lovely.'  Okay, so maybe Anya would say something like that, but normal people didn't.

Buffy shifted on the bed, feeling even more uncomfortable than before.  Maybe because the sad thing was, part of her actually did want to get married.  

She just kept thinking about what her grandmother would say about this.  That, without that little gold band, they were only playing house, even if they already did have one kid and were about to have another.  They could still walk away from each other and feel that there would be no consequences because, well, they were never married.   Practically wasn't the same thing.  Mated wasn't the same thing.  No matter how much they would like it to be.

Spying the digital clock next to the bed, Buffy sighed.  Faith would be here soon to pick up Angel and Spike for patrol.  Not that anyone expected a lot of activity in this kind of heat.  Still, they would go out, do a sweep of the town, then head back to the Magic Box to research with the others for any info on Faith's cult.

So far, they had come up with a whole lot of nothing.  No names, no way to know what they want.  The Brazilian police didn't even know what they had really been called; they just referred to them with the name the newspapers called them.  Buffy couldn't remember what it was called in Portuguese; just that Giles said it roughly translated to Followers of the Evil Spirit.  

The only other thing they knew was that the head honchos had been a couple of North Americans, but that was it.  Lots to go on there.  Well, at least that safely eliminated the British people in town as being the people they needed to take out.  For that anyway.

Buffy knew Spike would really rather not go out with them, he never did, but especially tonight.  Her doctor was coming over to give her a quick check-up, see how things were moving along, and he didn't like missing those in case anything was wrong.

Plus there was the fact that Dylan had caught a cold somehow.  Buffy wasn't sure how the girl picked it up, but the poor kid had spent the better part of the day coughing and sneezing with no relief in sight.  

His girls were sick and uncomfortable, and Spike didn't like leaving them in that state.  But it was better if he went on patrol because, as she said, there was a cult out there, not to mention possibly Travers lurking about.  

They would be fine here.  Willow was coming over later to hang out with her and Dylan while her mom went to the gallery, and Dawn was at the Magic Box with the others.  And, for extra protection, Angel had pretty much permanently posted Connor in their living room while he was out.  Especially when both he and Spike were gone.

"Faith's going to be here soon," she finally said, turning her attention back to him.  "You should, you know, be getting ready."

"Would really rather stay here with you, kitten," he answered, a flash of relief passing through his eyes before he settled into a more relaxed tone.

"We'll be fine."  The blonde placed her hand on top of her enlarged stomach.  "Connor will be downstairs.  Willow will be here too.  Besides, you'll be gone for what?  Two hours?  I was fine without you for a whole month.  I think I can survive a couple of hours."

He smirked at her as she grinned at him.  For a guy who had once lived by 'Blood, guts, and glory.  Sod everything else' he sure did worry a lot.  

Leaning over, he kissed her softly and felt the grin grow into a smile.

"Mmmm.  Cold," she said, pulling him a little closer.

_So much for that whole 'never touching me again' thing.___

********* 

Dylan sat on her bed, staring at her computer screen as she read the message that had been sent.  So that was the plan?  Well, she could go along with it.

She had been playing sick for the past week, knowing that it would be happening soon.  Now that it was 'going down,' so to speak, she couldn't help but feel a bit anxious.  Well, it would all be over soon, she just had to keep telling herself that.  It would all be over and done with soon.

It was easy enough for them to believe she was indeed sick, considering the sharp contrast between inside and outside their home.  Buffy had it cold enough in the house to hang meat in the hallways, and outside it was so hot that she, Van, and Jessie had actually been able to fry an egg on the concrete.  The rest of the Scoobies wouldn't even come in the house anymore unless they had too.  And Dawn had been practically living at the Magic Box or at Connor's in an effort to escape the freezer they called home.  So, the idea of Dylan actually getting a cold in the middle of summer really wasn't all that far fetched for anyone to believe. 

Closing her laptop, she glanced down to the end of her bed were Sid had made himself comfortable.  The solid black cat had its paws tucked under his large body, and looked like he was trying to sleep like that.  Reaching over, she tried to pet the animal, but, as soon as he spotted her hand, the black tabby recoiled.  Her ever faithful cat bowed his back, his fur standing on end as she tried to touch him, all the while hissing and growling dangerously at the young girl.  He even took a swipe at her for good measure, forcing Dylan to retreat her hand.

A deep frown, full of hurt, found its way onto her face before she forcefully kicked the cat off her bed, and sent it searching for safety.  A moment later it seemed, her father opened the door, and the house cat took off like a black streak of lightening into the hallway.

"Bloody, soddin' cat!" her father swore as the animal escaped between his feet, nearly causing him to trip.  He then turned his attention to his daughter, who was still sitting on her bed, looking as innocent as possible.  "What the hell is the matter with him?"

"He's been acting crazy all day," she told him dismissively.  Remembering that she was supposed to have a cold, she sniffled and made her voice sound more congested.  "I don't think he likes Angel being around."

"Who does?" Spike shrugged, before glancing down the hall to where the cat had run off to.  

That stupid creature had been acting bonkers ever since the Poppet came home.  Of course, that was how long the Poof had been here too.  And if that pet really belonged to his family, it should hate Peaches good and proper.

"Dad?" Dylan asked, bring father back to her attention.  She gave him a curious look, silently asking 'Is there something you want?'

"Oh, um, 'bout to head out for the night.  Wanted to check on you before I left."

Making a perfect 'o' with her mouth, Dylan watched as he quickly walked across the room to her.

"Angel and Faith going with you?" she asked, knowing full well the answer to her question already.

"Yeah," he sighed, flopping down next to her, which made the young girl bounce in the air a little before settling again on the bed.  "Figure we can use Mr. Extra Strong Hold Hair Gel as bait while me and the Second String finish 'em off."

"Why do you call her the Second String?  Faith is _the_ slayer."

"Correction, pip.  Your mum is _the slayer.  Faith is __a slayer.  She'll never come close to Buffy.  Trust me, I fought enough of their kind to know."_

"Don't you mean my kind?" Dylan asked.  

They all knew the prophecies well enough.  She might just be a kid now, but, someday, the little girl beside him was supposed to grow up to be some end-all slayer.  She was showing potential already, and she was only eight.

That didn't mean that he had to like it.  The very idea of his daughter being called made Spike's blood run colder than it already was.  He knew the life of a slayer very well, he had taken two and loved the third.  Hard, violent, brutal, and generally short pretty much summed it up.   

Even if Buffy and Faith never showed it anymore, the first three described their existence well.  It was a fluke that they had managed to live this long…well, that Faith had.  Buffy…they still weren't sure about her.

"Naw, pet.  You're a different sort of breed all together."

Spike failed to notice the crestfallen face that crossed over her features briefly.  

Different sort of breed?  Meaning, she's not even human enough to be a slayer?  God, what was she then?  More importantly, what did her own father think she was?

Sighing, the soulful vampire glanced towards her window and found that the sun had finally set.  That probably meant that Peaches and the Slayer Sequel were waiting on him.

"Guess I better be goin' then," he said, rising to his feet.  A thought crossed his mind before he asked, "Who left the hall window's blinds up?"

_Okay, act surprised, like it was an accident.  Not that you were trying to keep him and Angel out of your room while you were talking to Grandfather._

"Oh, um, sorry," Dylan apologized sheepishly.  "I was really cold earlier, and, um, I must have left the blinds pulled up after I, ah, closed the window."

She watched as he seemed to consider her answer carefully, all the while presenting him with the innocent smile of a child.  After several seconds, he shrugged and Dylan had to fight from heaving a sigh of relief.

"Just be more careful next time, pip.  Some of us ain't so sun friendly."

"I will," she lied sweetly.

That satisfied him on the subject.  Spike then bent down and gently kissed her on the forehead.  His lips were like ice against her skin, and Dylan couldn't fight the shiver that traveled up her spin from the added coldness he had introduced.  This time, he did notice his daughter's discomfort and pulled away quickly.  

"I'll see you in a couple of hours," the vampire said, before grabbing her nearby long sleeve shirt and draping it over her shoulders.  She smiled as he quickly rubbed his hands up and down her now covered arms.  "Try and keep warm 'til then."

"I will," she said truthfully this time.

Snorting a laugh, Spike gave his daughter one last look, then turned to head downstairs.

Dylan wasn't sure what made her do it, what made her call out to him.  All she knew was that she had been watching him go, and then suddenly heard herself speak.

"Dad."

Spike paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder to his little girl.  There was something in her face, like she wanted to tell him something but couldn't quiet find her voice.  After several seconds, Dylan jumped off the bed, hurried across the room, and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"You love me, right?" she asked from left field.

"What?  Course I do."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what," he repeated before pulling her away to look in her face.  "Do you have a fever or something?"  

Well, she wasn't flushed by what he could tell, she had been sounding better when they were talking, but that didn't mean that she still wasn't really sick.  

"No, I'm okay," she said, shaking her head to accent her answer.

"Are you sure?  I could stay in tonight with you and your mum if you want."

"Naw, it's fine.  I just-."

"Yo, Blondie!  Let's get a move on here!" Faith bellowed from downstairs.  Even if Spike didn't dye his hair anymore, she hadn't given up the nickname.  Probably never would either.

"You better go," Dylan sighed, stepping away from his grip.  "She sounds irritated."

"She's a slayer, pip.  They're always irritated."

"Even Mom?"

"Especially your mum," he said grinning before becoming gentle again.  "Be good for her tonight, eh."

"Sure."

"I'll see you when I get home, then."

"Alright.  Bye."

Spike nodded his farewell, then took off after the voice that had called for him.  

Dylan stood in her doorway for a little while, then walked across the hall to her grandmother's room and peeked out the window that overlooked the front yard.  She watched the trio of adults go down the front walk, Faith out front while her father and Angel began to bicker behind her.  

Though she hadn't heard Connor arrive, she knew that he had to be there for them to go ahead and leave.  Willow would be there soon, and so would that doctor friend of hers.  Not that many people in the house.  Nothing they couldn't handle.

_No matter what_, her father's voice echoed in her mind, causing Dylan to sigh.  Well, looks like they'll get to test that theory tonight.

********** 


	13. Educated

_Part 13: Educated_

Dr. Maya Collins was a practical woman.  She understood that if you did this, that would be the outcome.  If she mixed blue with yellow, green would be the result.  If she put oil and water together, the oil would rise to the top and not mix with the water below.  If she put sage and motherwort together, it would…do something she didn't know anything about because her mother would never teach her such magic.  Um, yeah…

The point was, Maya's world was pretty rigid; one might even call it black and white.  Certain things went together, certain things did not, and never shall that line be crossed.

Then she met the Summers'.

If there ever was a gray spot in this world, it was 1630 Revello Drive.  Souled vampires, miracle children, magical Keys, ex-demons, ex-witches, and slayers - one of whom was pregnant with a vampire's child! – called this place home.  Yeah, the world definitely got grayer around that house.  

She never knew what to expect when she came to this seemingly normal home.  In fact, she wouldn't be surprised to walk in and finding a 'Reformed Demons Anonymous' meeting going on or Dracula sitting at the kitchen counter, spilling his guts (metaphorically, of course) to Joyce.  Yes, a place like this could only exist on the hellmouth.

Maya sat in front of her patient, checking her over to make sure that everything was indeed all right.  Generally, she would have made a woman in her condition come into her office, but she understood that Buffy was…special.  

While Maya herself might be well versed in things that were magical and understood that sometimes there were more to things than they seem, her well respected co-workers generally did not.  As well educated as they might be, none of them knew what a slayer was, let alone what her physiological readings would be, carrying a child that, by all things she had ever been taught, should not exist.  So, she would have to go back to the old times when doctors used to make house calls for this case, and pray to God that no questions would be asked if she had to do the delivery here.

"Everything appears to be looking good," the physician informed the slayer with a smile, pulling the stethoscope out of her ears and placing it back around her neck.  "I'd say you probably have a couple of more weeks to go before the little guy is ready to make his big début.  But it'll be here before you know it."

"God, I hope so," the blonde said, pushing herself into a more comfortable position in her bed.  "I don't know how much longer I can go before this heat causes me to spontaneously combust and burn the house down."

The doctor offered a sympathetic smile as she began to gather her things together.  Being pregnant in the middle of summer was always hard, especially for someone as far along as Buffy.  The fact that it was one of the hottest June's on record didn't help the matter either.  But Buffy seemed to handling it well enough.  Of course, the fact that it was only twelve degrees in the house might have something to do with it.

Lord, Maya didn't know how the others handled it.  Well, Spike and - What was his name?  Gabriel? Michael?  It was something heavenly.  Oh, that's right. – Angel had an unfair advantage, what with the no body heat thing.  As for the rest of them…she hadn't even been there an hour and already couldn't feel her fingers.  She had no idea how they could take it.

Well, she supposed they weren't tonight.  When she had arrived, Willow had been the one to answer the door and the only other person she had seen was that Connor boy, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV.  If the others were here, they hadn't made themselves known.

"I'm going to go ahead and schedule an appointment for next Wednesday, just to be on the safe side.  Is that alright?"

"Yeah.  I'll be here."

"Good.  I'll see you Wednesday, then."

Maya headed out into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door closed behind her.  Once Buffy couldn't see her, she freely shuttered from the cold, before bringing her cupped hands to her face and blowing into them.

"We found a good pair of gloves and a jacket generally works the best," she heard Willow say from nearby.  

The fellow redhead looked up and found the younger woman standing at the top of the stairs, a sympathetic smile on her face as she dug her hands a little deeper into the thin coat she had on.  Maya returned it, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to keep warm.

"So, is everything okay?" the onetime witch asked nervously.  "I don't need to, you know, go beep Spike or anything, right?"

"No, everything's fine," Maya assured her.  "Where is everyone tonight anyway?  Usually I'm tripping over people when I have to do Buffy's check-ups."

"Yeah, it does get kind of crowded in here," Willow agreed.  "Um, let's see.  Joyce had some art gallery thing tonight, but she'll be back soon.  Dawn's at the Magic Box with the others doing the whole research thing on Faith's cult people.  And Spike and, um, Angel headed out to patrol with her tonight 'cause, ah, well, the town's not making much with the nasties, so that can't be a good thing.  That's why Connor's downstairs.  You know, holding down the fort 'til daddy and grandsire get home.  Oh, and Dill's actually here, in her room.  She kind of caught a cold."

The older witch couldn't help but laugh.  From the story Willow had told her, the child has been dragged nearly all over the world by some psychotic Watcher, only to be miraculously rescued in LA by her father's grandsire.  And now that she's safe at home, she gets sick.  Poor kid.  She really did have the worst luck Maya had ever heard of.

"So, Buffy's doing okay then?" Willow asked again, as if she were afraid that the slayer's condition had changed in the last five seconds.

"She's fine.  It's like I told her, it won't be long now."  Maya's face became a little more serious and worried as she glanced over her shoulder at the door, then pulled the younger redhead a little closer.  "However, I do have a few concerns."

"Like?"

"Like how much stress she's had over the course of this pregnancy.  It wasn't good for her or the baby, but I had hoped that since Dylan came home, she would finally be able to relax a bit.  But with her still having to watch out for this Travers guy and this cult…She needs to be able to rest.  The stress can trigger early labor this late in her pregnancy.  I know kids born this early have a high probability of survival, but I really rather not chance it."

"W-what do you suggest?"

"Try to keep things as stress free as possible for her for the next couple of weeks.  Make her feel like she's safe, that her family and friends are safe.  That seems to be her main concerns, which is understandable, all things considered."  

Maya began to walk down the stairs, Willow following close behind.  

The doctor paused at the front door, and said, "If her stress level doesn't come down by the next time I see her, I'm going to put her on constant bed rest.  Is that understood?"

The younger redhead nodded her head quickly.  "Diminishing of the stress.  Gotcha.  This will be a stress free zone from now on."

"I hope so," Maya said, opening the door, the heat from outside hitting her in the face like she had just opened the door to the oven.  Stepping out into the summer night, she went on, "Tell the others what I said.  Okay?"

"I will."

"Good.  Goodnight."

"'Night."

Sighing, the ex-witch closed the door behind her friend.  

Keep the stress down?  On the _hellmouth_?!  God, she might as well asked them to spin the earth backwards while simultaneously finding a cure for cancer, bringing peace to the Middle East, and getting every gross-out, bug-eating, one-step-closer-to-getting-someone-killed, reality-but-not reality television show banded from the air.  And she was talking about Buffy's stress, which was even harder to get rid of.

"Buffy's stressed?" a small voice asked from above, causing Willow to jump slightly.

She turned around quickly and found Dylan sitting high up on the stairs the two redheads had just descended from.  The girl's feet rested on the step below the one she sat on, bringing her knees high against her chest as she carefully watched the woman below.  A chill traveled down Willow's spin at the look in the child's eye, like she was a lioness, hiding in the high grass of the Sahara, waiting to pounce on her prey.  As long as Willow had known her, she had never seen the predatory manner in the girl on the stairs.  The witch had never once believed that Dylan had inherited any of Spike's demon, but, now, she had to wonder.

"Um, yeah," the redhead answered, carefully walking to the staircase, but stopping at the bottom stair.  "Maya said it'd be a good idea to, you know, try to keep things stress free for her for awhile."

"Oh," Dylan said, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' as she nodding in understanding.  Then, the child blinked and the predator was suddenly gone and had been replaced by the usually happy, smiling Dylan.  Jumping back onto her feet, the girl turned and jogged back up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to be in my room."

Willow stared up the staircase for several seconds after Dylan had disappeared down the upstairs hall.  That was really weird.  Maybe they should consider about what Angel and Giles had been saying about getting Dylan someone to talk to.  But she wouldn't bring it up to Buffy right now.  That's just more stress, and the slayer didn't need that at the moment.

Sighing once more, the redhead went to find Connor and tell him what Maya had told her.

********** 

Giles sighed as he pulled off his glasses, and held the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to will the words in the book before him to stop blurring together.  

Most of the gang had gathered in his old shop for yet another research party that was quickly turning out like the rest of them.  There just didn't seem to be anything out there on these people Faith had tracked here, other than what had happened down in Buenos Aires.  The ritual used to kill those people didn't match anything the onetime Watcher had ever seen before.  It was almost like they had just butchered them for the hell of it, but why?

He looked up from the literature and glanced at the people who were searching as well.

Dawn sat on her regular perch on the stairs that lead up to the loft where he kept his dark magic books.  The young woman was deeply engrossed in whatever she was reading.  Giles couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she had slipped a magazine into the book to only give the appearance of doing research.  It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

Andrew was sitting on the stair that leads into the show room, playing cards with Van and Jessie.  Xander had said that it was hard to find a baby-sitter on a Friday night, especially when you had the reputation like his two kids did.  Giles could understand anyone's reluctance to watch those two little…um.  Well, he supposed as long as they weren't doing anything destructive, it was alright.

Xander, Anya, and Oz were at the table, sifting through the large box of books that had arrived that day.  They had come earlier that evening, much to Giles' relief.  He had phoned Catherine nearly a week ago, asking her to send some of her father's books that contained references cult activity that she thought might be helpful.  He most certainly hadn't expected her to send as many as she had.  Maybe when this was all over, he could sort through them properly.  Yes, he would enjoy that.

"Giles," the Watcher heard a small voice call.  

He turned to find Cash sitting in front of the counter with toys strewn around him and one of the new books opened in his lap.  For a moment, Giles felt the color drain from his face as his eyes focused in on the coloring box beside the boy and flashes of ruined text appeared before the old man's eyes.  However, the boy didn't seem interested in marking in the book, but was curious about something he had found inside it.

"Wha's this?" the four-year-old asked, pointing to a picture.

Quickly, Giles placed the text he had been reading onto the counter and carefully knelt next to the little boy.  He took the book from him under the pretence that he wanted a better look, but truth was he was afraid the child might have the sudden urge to be destructive and ruin Catherine's book.  Smiling nervously at the boy as he stood so he could still see the picture, Giles adjusted his glasses and peered at the drawing.

"That is what is called the Substantia Seco.  See, it says that right here."  He held the book closer to him so he could see the caption below where the name was written, even though the child wasn't able to read yet.

"Is it bad?" the youngest Harris asked innocently.

"Oh, yes, it's very bad.  You see, it's a symbol that some very bad men used a long time ago.  It was to show they were part of a group that wanted to help this evil demon.  You see that shape of the moon there?  That's supposed represents the darkness of the creature, the demon.  And that funny shape with it that looks like an eye?  That comes from the idea that the eyes are the windows to the soul, or the essence of a person.  The reason they're not touching each other is because the demon and his essence were separated."

"Why?"

"I don't know," the older Watcher lied easily.  There was no reason to tell the child and he didn't want to scare him.  

"Well, wha' happened to the men?"

"You don't have worry about them.  They died out long before even your mother was born."

"Oh," the boy said with shrug before flopping back down where he had been before, apparently forgetting all about the symbol before he even hit the ground..  Scooping up two of his G.I. Joe's, he began to make them have an imaginary gun fight, complete with sound effects to annoy the adults.

Giles sighed deeply as he pushed himself up and placed the text high on the counter so the child could not reach it again.  When Cash made a loud 'BOOM' sound for a bomb only he could see, the Watcher momentarily wonder how much Scotch he had left hidden in the back of the store.

********** 

"God, wake up already!" Faith said with a groan, as she hoping off the headstone before starting to pace in front of the newly dug grave.  "What'd they do?  Give him a freakin' sleepin' pill after they drained 'em?"

"Some dig their way out quicker than others," Angel said.  "Took me nearly two hours before I hit the surface."

"That's 'cause they wanted to bury you real deep in hopes that'd you wouldn't be able get out." Spike placed a cigarette between his lips before lighting the stick.  He took a long, satisfying drag off it before adding in a puff of smoke, "Ain't that right, Angel Boy?"

"Shut up, Spike." Angelus growled dangerously, which only caused the younger vamp's smirk to grow.  "Besides, didn't Buffy tell you to stop smoking…again?"

"Don't see her around, now do you?"

"I hope not.  Not after the condition you got her in."

"Oh, yeah, I got her knocked up good and proper, I did.  And I had her screamin' when I did it too." 

Spike knew it was a dangerous game to be playing with the older vampire, but that had never stopped him before.  It was like teasing a rabid dog that was tied to a tree.  He was inching closer and closer to the wild animal, trying to get as close as he could to make it attack.  Only problem was, that part of his brain that told him 'too far' didn't work, and he usually ended up being mauled.  And when Angelus tore in, he didn't let go for a good long while.

"Girl finally knows what a _real lover is supposed to be like.  Rest of 'em were just down right inadequate in comparison."_

Too far!  Too far!! 

"That's it, you son of-."

"Hey!" Faith shouted, glaring at the two vampires.  "You guys chill before I lay you both out.  Cause, I'm not goin' back and tellin' B 'Sorry girl, but the only way to see your ex and your kids' daddy is by lookin' over into Sid's litter box!'  Now I'm hot and cranky, so can I just dust this guy in peace?"

"'Sid's litter box?'" Angel repeated slowly.

"'Your kids' daddy?'  What does this look like?  Jerry Springer?" Spike asked heatedly.

Faith rolled her dark eyes at the two.  God, how in the hell did B stand the both of them in the same house?  If it'd been her, she would have killed one of them already just to stop the constant fighting.  Yeah, it was funny for awhile, but give it a rest already.

The dirt on the fresh grave began to stir and the brunette slayer sighed gratefully.  "Finally!  A vamp I can kill!"

A claw like hand shot up through the dirt, and held there for a second.  It reminded her all those movies she had seen where they thought they had defeated the bad guy by dropping something on them, only to have his hand explode upward out of the debris in preparation of a sequel.  Only this was the one and only curtain call this guy was ever going to have.

His other hand pushed out of the dirt, and soon he had pulled his whole body out from the grave.  He pushed himself to his feet and brushed some of the dirt off his nice suit.  Then, he slowly looked upward, his face ridged and his eyes burning yellow as he stared at the woman before him.  She was smiling brightly at him, with just a hint of mischief in her eyes, while she stood posed with her stake ready to strike.

"Hello," Faith said, sounding like that kid from Home Alone before he put the hurt on the two criminals.  The slayer herself jabbed the stake forward into the vamp's chest, never even given him a chance to understand what was going on. 

"Didn't put up much of a fight, did he?" Spike said, sounding rather disappointed as he stood up from the headstone he had been sitting on.

"Yeah, well, when you're as good as I am, they generally don't."  

She stretched her arms over her before crossing them and holding them against her head for a moment, with a smug 'I'm the best' look on her face all the while.  However, her features fell as quickly as her arms when she spotted something behind the two vampires.  Alert to her sudden mood change, the two men spun around, ready for a fight if need should be.  

What they found was an old man and a young boy.

********** 

Connor sighed as he walked through the downstairs portion of the house and into the kitchen.  The witch was there, standing over a stove as she waited for the pot to signal that the water was boiling.  She looked peculiar in the pair of jeans and jacket, an outfit that was completely inappropriate if she planned on walking outside.  The redhead would burn alive if she did.  However, in the house that might as well double as a meat locker, it didn't seem so wrong.

The little red kettle began to whistle a high pitched squeal.  Willow quickly turned off the stove and lifted it from the hot burner.

"Oh, goddess!" she yelped, surprised to find Connor watching her from the other side of the island.  He had nearly made her drop the kettle, and raised her heart rate considerable.  "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," he apologized, though the young man didn't seem all that sorry if you asked her.   

Not that he was the easiest person in the world to read.  In fact, besides anger and evenness, Willow wasn't even sure if he knew how to express emotion on his face.  Sure, Dawn might get him to smile every once in awhile, or he might grin whenever he knew he was aggravating someone, but, for the most part, he was only bi-emotional.  Or that was all he showed at least.

"Didn't your father ever teach you not to sneak up on people, mister?" the redhead asked, grabbing a couple of cups from the cabinet.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Xander's voice.  _Are you kidding?  Angel's kid has to have that sneakiness gene, so they can slip in on someone to scare them or slit their throats.  Whichever one he feels like._

"'Fraid not," the young man said with a shrug.  She dropped the bags of chamomile into the hot water, then began to add honey and sugar.  "Who's the tea for?"

Willow glanced up at him as she finished her task and placed the two cups on the tray.  

"One's for Dill, you know, to help her feel better.  The other one is for Buffy, to help her relax.  And this-."  Turning around to the still going coffee pot, she poured herself a large mug and placed it on the tray with the others.  "Is for me."

She smiled brightly at him as she picked the tray up, careful to not let the dishes slip.

"We'll be upstairs if you need us," Willow said, heading for the staircase.

Connor stood there, listening to her footsteps as she hurried up the stairs, up and down the hall, before finally settling into one room.  If he listened closely, he could hear Willow and Buffy talking – probably about what new names the blonde had come up with so far.  

Dylan's room, however, remained absolutely silent, which was very strange.  As long as he had known the girl, she had been making some kind of noise; but not tonight.  She wasn't even typing away on that stupid computer, which caused him to frown even deeper.  That just wasn't right.  Something had to be wrong.

Connor began to move towards the staircase when he heard something move outside.  Stopping dead in his tracks, he glanced over his shoulder to the dark backdoor, as if trying to peer through and see to the other side.  He strained to hear anything else, but the only sounds were the neighbors bug zapper and a car traveling Maple Street.  Still, he knew something was out there, he could feel it down into his bones.  Danger was nearby.

Slowly, he moved to the back door, and wrapped his hand around the doorknob.  He tried to see through the glass, but over head light limited his vision, and all he could make out were a few trees and the back fence.  Carefully, he opened the door and walked outside, trying his best not to startle whoever or whatever was out here.

Connor's eyes scanned back and forth in the dark yard that was being illuminated by the porch light, trying his best to find any movement.  The stillness was just putting him more on edge.  He half expected Freddy or Jason to suddenly jump out from behind the bushes, their weapons held high as they prepare to strike.  But that only happened in movies.  Here, he needed to be more worried about demons suddenly appearing than psychopaths in Halloween masks.

He finally reached the edge of the deck and carefully peered over it side to darkness below.  Something moved.  

Connor pounced over the railing and onto it quickly.

Sid growled and hissed loudly, clawing at his capture until he was released.

The cat.  He had gotten himself worked up because of the damn cat.  Well, won't Spike and Angel love hearing about-.

A shadow was cast over him from above.  Connor turned around just in time to be hit across the face by someone unnaturally strong.  He hit the ground hard, dazed by the blow.  A silhouette appeared over him, and he blinked from surprise.

"Dylan?"

The girl's response was to kick him in the head and knocking him out.

********** 

Dylan looked down at the young man lying unconscious at her feet.  Well, looks like she finally did get the better of him, even if it was in a sneaky sort of way.  Then again, sometimes you take the win no matter how it came about.

She momentarily wondered if perhaps she should drag him somewhere more hidden than the bottom of the deck stairs.  Then again, Buffy and Willow were both upstairs in her mother's bedroom, and probably wouldn't notice.  And, if they did, by then it would be too late.

Glancing up, her eyes scanned the foliage that lined most of the backyard.  They were there, she could feel them watching her, making sure everything was ready and set to go.  Deciding that she could just leave Conner there, the young girl nodded her head once, then headed up into the house, deliberately leaving the backdoor open.

********** 


	14. DoubleCrossing

_Part 14: Double-Crossing_

Faith raised an eyebrow as she considered the man that stood before them.  He was old, at least in his seventies.  His suit was nicely pressed and looked like it cost more than a month's rent at her hotel.  The cane he held in his right hand had an ivory panther head that was in the middle of a roar.  But the thing about him that was completely off-putting was the Cheshire cat smile on his face.

The boy that stood behind him kept his head down, almost like he was ashamed to even lift it.  That, or was waiting to be told to do so.  He held his arms locked behind his back, and, for a singular moment, he reminded the slayer of Buffy's old military boyfriend.  The only thing about the child that seemed to be out of place was the fact that there was something strapped to his back.  In the darkness, Faith couldn't make out what it was.

But he was more of an after thought than anything.  Her attention was still on the old, smiling guy.  There was something about him.  Something familiar…

"I know you," the dark-haired slayer said.

"I should hope so, Ms. Faith.  You used to work for me," he responded, a smooth British accent making his words sound like honey.  "And I did negotiate your release from prison."

That was when it clicked.  She didn't know him.  She knew _who he was._

"Travers," the brunette said, her eyes narrowing a bit.

"_You_!" Spike growled dangerously, his face shifting to its demonic form.  

It was clear to everyone that he was about to make good on the many threats of violence he had made over the year towards the old man.  Too bad Angel stepped in and held the former bleached blonde back.  Faith was pretty sure she would have enjoyed seeing the snotty Watcher get disemboweled the old fashion way.

"Let me go, Peaches!" he yelled, struggling to be released from the older vamp's grasp.  When Angel failed to comply, he snapped, "NOW!!"

"Spike!" his grandsire yelled, pushing him back again. 

Angel's dark eyes darted towards the old man's hands.  In his free hand, he was gripping tightly onto a stake, as if he were waiting for the attack.  Yet the wicked grin remained on his wrinkly lips, never once showing any fear towards the group.

Still, Blondie looked as if he were ready to take on the legions of hell themselves.  Some old, stuffy Watcher guy wouldn't stand a chance if Angel let go of the younger vampire.  Maybe that's why he held on.  It would be far more satisfying to torture him for awhile and find out what was going through that sick head of his when he decided to play with their lives like that, then kill him.  

Slowly.  

And painfully.

Spike's eyes were still burning yellow as he glared at his grandsire before finally jerking away from him.  He growled one last time at Travers, letting the old man know he was far from finished with him, then turned his attention to the boy at the old man's side.

"Good to see whose side you're really on," he said sarcastically to the child, the danger and disappointment evident in the tone.

The boy lifted his eyes from the ground, returning the glare that was directed his way but it was no where near as threatening.  

Faith figured that this must be that Sebastian kid that B had told her about awhile back.  Wow, he did kind of have a younger Connor feel to him.

"What's with Junior?" the slayer asked evenly.  A snide smile appeared on her lips. "Bodyguard?"

Travers chuckled to himself, sounding like one of those cheesy villains whenever the good guys inquired about his top man.  

"I would not be so quick to dismiss him, Ms. Faith.  Young Sebastian is quiet capable."

"Ye-ah," Faith drew out skeptically.  "Wait right here while I go buy a pair of boots so I can shake in them."

"Always were one to just take things for face value, weren't you?  Sebastian."

The boy straightened when his name was called, and turned his full attention to the old man.  Still grinning, Travers raised his hand with the stake in it and rested his murderous gaze on Faith.

"Why don't demonstrate you're skill with a crossbow for her." 

Easily, the kid slid the strap on his shoulder, pulling the weapon that had been resting on his back into his hands.  It was too large and bulky for someone his age, yet he held it in such a way that it appeared that he had been using it for many years.

Faith felt her eyes widen as he fired before any of them were even able to move.

**********

Willow laughed as she brought the mug up to her lips and took a sip of the hot liquid.  Several fans around the room were running on high, along with the AC, and the ex-witch was grateful for the warmth that the drink provided.  Mental note, no more babies in the middle of summer, especially if it meant being found frozen to death in the middle of a heat wave.

Buffy herself finally seemed to be getting comfortable.  The covers had been thrown to the side, leaving the pregnant slayer to the open air.  The white silk nightgown hung loosely on her body, leaving her bare legs to the cold air as she leaned back against several pillows.  With the way she was glowing, and the large, radiant smile on her face, Willow thought her friend looked rather angelic.  Of course, that image was destroyed whenever she suddenly belched in a way that it would rival that of post-Thanksgiving Meal Xander.

"Sorry," the blonde said sheepishly, her cheeks burning for a second.  

"It's okay.  Ice cream with nacho sauce will do that to a person," Willow said with a shrug, willing that disgusting image out of her mind.  "So, have you guys even come close to deciding on a name?"

"Well, we're not throwing things at each other anymore.  Is that getting closer?"

"It can't be that bad."

"Oh, yes, it can." Buffy carefully placed the now empty tea cup on the nightstand next to the bed.  "Do you know he actually suggested Damien the other day?"

"Like the kid from _The Omen_?"

"He said that it's his son, so we need to prepare for the worst."

"Well..." Willow drifted off slowly, half playing with her friend, half considering the reasoning.

"Willow!" 

The two women broke into a fit of giggles as Buffy playfully swatted at her friend for agreeing with Spike.  

As they laughed, the air conditioning, fans, and lights all popped off at the same time, causing the two women to jump from surprise.  Darkness over took their senses for a short while, before their eyes slowly began to adjust to it.

"What happened?" Buffy asked as Willow got up from the bed and walked over to the window.

"We must have blown a fuse," the ex-witch said with a frown, holding the curtain back for a short time as she looked at the still illuminated street and homes.  

_Wouldn't be the first time_, Willow thought as she let the fabric fall back in place, and smiled at her friend.  Even if it was dark, Buffy had pretty good night vision, and she wanted to assure her everything was indeed alright.  After all, Maya had said no more stress, and the last thing Buffy needed was to believe that someone was attacking her home.  

Besides, how many times had Joyce said the fuses had given out over the past month?  Three?  Four?  With all the electrical stuff they had going, it was surprising that it wasn't a daily occurrence.  Well, at least the people at the power company were enjoying Buffy's pregnancy, even if no one else was.

"I'll go check and see," the redhead offered, heading out the bedroom door before the blonde could protest.

Once she stepped out into the dark hall, she pulled the door closed, in hopes of keeping the room cool until they were able to fix the problem.

"What's going on?" a little voice asked from down the hall.

Willow turned.  Dylan was standing there, rubbing one of her eyes as if she had just been woken up.  Unlike the others, the child had adapted pretty well to the cold, except for the whole getting sick thing.  In fact, she didn't even seem the least bit chill as she stood there in an oversized sleep shirt, with a pair of neon shorts peeking out from under its hem.

"The box threw…again," the redhead said, glancing down into the dark staircase.  

She did not want to go into the darkness below.  The way the shadows moved on the foyer floor reminded her of a sinister realm she had the brief displeasure of calling home.  Just the thought of walking willingly into the murky darkness on the stairs was enough to make her skin crawl.  Connor just better not sneak up on her again, or he was going to find out how bad she could be even without her powers.

"It'll be okay.  Why don't you just go back to bed?" Willow smiled, trying to hide how freaked she really was.  "Oh, or better yet, why don't you go sit with your mom while Connor and I fix the box and make Mr. Darkness go away.  I think she'd like that."

Dylan considered the offer for a moment, then began to walk towards the witch.  Buffy liked it whenever the child would willingly go spend time with her, especially whenever it was just the two of them. 

Maybe Willow would see if they could take a little more time getting the breaker fixed than they had too.

She waited until Dylan disappeared into the master bedroom, letting herself beam for a few more seconds.  However, her features fell when she realized that she now had to go downstairs and face those shadows on her own.

_Don't worry.  Connor's down there, and he won't let anything happen.  That's what he was there for.  Right?_

Slowly, Willow started to the first floor, carefully stepping down with each movement of her foot.  When she was halfway down, she leaned over the banister.

"Connor?" she called, continuing her decent.  Upon reaching the bottom step, Willow asked once more, "Connor?  You there?"

When her feet hit the foyer floor and she turned towards the living room, the redhead felt someone quickly wrap an arm around her middle and cover her mouth, simultaneously.  Blind panic overtook Willow's senses as the man pulled her back against him, holding her little, struggling body against his.  Her screams and cries for help went unheard as he held his meaty hand over her mouth, and covered half her nose, making it hard for the redhead to breathe.  

Oh, God, what was happening?!  Who are these guys?!

Three others lined up in front of Willow and the one that held her, waiting for orders, while several more moved through the living room. They were robed men, all having the same deep crimson colored cloth draped over their bodies.  Their garments also had hoods, and were pulled so that the witch couldn't see their eyes, only their faces from the nose down.  Yet, somehow, they moved through the house and darkness as if it were nothing.

Willow struggled once more, trying to break free from the grasp of the man who held her but failed.

"She's upstairs," the one that held her said.

Her eyes widened at the statement as the three in front of her gave a small bow and began upward.  Oh, goddess!  She had to help Buffy and Dylan!

The onetime witch dropped her jaw as low as it would go, then racked her teeth against the inside of his hand until she was able to gather a small patch of skin between them.  It wasn't much, but she bit down as hard as she could until the taste of blood began to fill her mouth.

"Ow!"

He drew his hand away from her sharply, and inadvertently loosed his grip on her waist at the same time.  Seeing her opportunity, the redhead stepped to the side and balled her fist as she placed her other hand over it with Coach Martis' words playing through her head.

_Remember, girls.  The elbow is the hardest point on the body.  If you're attacked, use it._

Willow then slammed her bent elbow into her attackers stomach the best she could, causing him to let her loose completely as he doubled over.

And people thought it was stupid for her to take notes in gym class.

"Buffy!!" the redhead yelled, starting up the stairs right behind the three robed men as the others began to pursue her.

Reaching up, Willow grabbed the back of the robe of the man in front of her, and pulled with all her might.  His foot slipped on the carpeted staircase, causing him to fall backwards and slide down several stairs.  The redhead had avoided him by stepping to the side and leaning against the railing, and she watched his body tumble downward.

At the same time, the man ahead of him suddenly turned, jumped down a step or two, and took a swing at the witch.  She barely avoided his fist and felt the air rush by her face.  As he prepared for another punch, Willow glanced towards the bottom of the stairs where the others were starting to come up over their fallen comrade.  The thought of how Buffy would handle this situation popped into her head, and she looked back up at the hooded man just as the second punch came.  It too missed her, but she grabbed his extended arm before he could retract it and jerked it, and him, forward.

Easily loosing his balance, the robed figure fell face first down the stairs.  He rolled once, head first, over his friend, and plowed right into the others, knocking them backwards as well.

Willow, however, had no time to enjoy the victory, and turned to charge upward, when something grabbed her foot and pulled.  She belly-flopped onto the stairs, hitting her chin, which caused a sharp pain to spread in her mouth along with another coppery taste.  It barely registered in her mind that she had bit her tongue, badly.  All she knew was that she had to get up there and help her friend.

She glanced back down the stairs and found one of the robed men holding tightly onto her pants' leg.  He had a look to him, telling her that he was not about to let her go, so she began to kick at him as hard as she could.  The heel of her shoe made contact with his head several times before he finally released her, and the young witch scrambled away just as several others came after her.

The one that had been ahead of the others was currently banging against the bedroom door with his shoulder, trying to make the plywood give.

Willow lunged at him, attaching herself to his back.  Her legs gripped tightly around his waist as she blindly clawed at his hidden face.

"Leave them alone!" she screamed, holding onto him as tightly as she could, as he thrashed backwards down the hall in an attempt to dislodge her.

As she clawed at him, he backed them into the bathroom door roughly, knocking some of the air out of Willow.  Upon finding something he could use, he began to bang against it, trying his best to get her off of him.  On the third bang, the door broke, and the two fell backwards onto the tile covered room.

The redhead landed hard on her back, knocking what oxygen she had left in her lungs out.  She groaned loudly as he fell on top of her, and her head banged painfully against the broken plywood beneath her.  Before her eyes there were flashes of light, and a severe case of nausea was turning in her stomach as the robed figure scrambled to get up. 

He seemed to turn around in midair, and Willow found herself staring up into the mouth of the hood.  She had barely noticed that he was above her now, when his fist flew out and punched her hard across the face.  He didn't have supernatural strength, but it certainly hurt like hell.  Another one followed, and another and the ex-witch knew that she had to do something or he was going to kill her.

After the third punch passed, she suddenly sat up the best she could and pushed the guy with all her might.  It was enough to lift him off of her for a moment, and she tried to make her escape.  

She turned her body to where she was on her hands and knees and was pushing herself up to run for the door that connected the bathroom and the master bedroom, when he kicked her in the butt.  Willow was sure that it would have probably looked almost comical, except for the fact that she quickly lost her balance and stumbled forward before slamming into the bathtub.  Her already injured head banged against the tub painfully, causing her already blurry vision to turn red.  

The witch was vaguely aware that there was blood dripping down the white fiberglass tub, as she slowly tried to push herself once more.  However, the injuries that her body had endured were now screaming, and the nausea was even worse.  She had barely pushed herself up when the white before her started to spin, and she fell into the darkness with a final grunt.

**********

"That didn't take…" Buffy started upon hearing the door open again, but stopped when she found that it wasn't Willow who had entered her room.  Dylan stood there, the tips of her lips barely curled at the ends for a light smile as she came inside and closed the door behind her.  "Oh, hi."

"Hey," the girl replied coming a little closer to her mother that stood in the middle of the room.

Buffy slowly sat on the edge of her bed, allowing the girl to come stand in front of her.  That was one thing she never did to her daughter, she never tried to direct her, she always let her come on her own.  Most of the time the girl was like a scared rabbit around her anyway, and that was before she was snatched.  It was just better that way.  Buffy knew what Dylan was like, and she had to come on her own.

"How're you feeling?" Buffy asked carefully.

"Better.  You?"

"Like I should be swimming around a large tank while a trainer throws fish at me and people take my picture."  A genuine smile arose on her daughter's lips at the image, which made her do so as well.  "Knew I could get a-."

"Buffy!!" Willow's panic cry echoed from downstairs, causing both mother and daughter to jump from surprise.

The slayer's instincts took over as she got up from the bed and hurried over to the bedroom door, her stride yelling that she was in charge and ready to fight.  Dylan's eyes grew wide as she stumbled back to the middle of the room, watching her mother as the sound of someone running up the stairs came.

"Mom?"

"Stay back, Dylan," Buffy ordered forcefully, opening the door to see what was happening.

She had barely glanced outside when she caught sight of a hooded man charging up her stairs.  The need to protect her child came over quickly, and Buffy stepped back inside the room and tried to slam the door shut just as he was entering.  

His hand snaked around the inside of the door, his fingers clasping near Buffy's head as she pushed against the plywood.  She stared at them for a moment, gritted her teeth, then used her slayer strength to smash them in the door frame.  He yelled from the agony each time she did so, but refused to let go.  Finally, she gave a little slack, then slammed them again, and she could hear at least one of them break.  It slid back out into the hall, and Buffy quickly shut the door and locked it.

The slayer backed away slowly, staring almost dumbly at the entrance like she expected it to suddenly burst open and let hell inside.  The thought of her friend being out there with them briefly flashed through her mind before he began to bang against the door in an effort to break it down.  

Her eyes darted to the connection between her room and Dawn's.  Thank God it was locked from this side.

Turning around, she found Dylan still standing there, just staring at her.  There was fear in her face while she stared at the thumping door, which only made Buffy's anger and need to protect her rise.  And with her current condition, the blonde slayer knew that meant only one thing.  They had to get out of there…now.

"Come on," she said, grabbing Dylan's hand and dragging her towards one of the windows.  

The blonde slayer gazed out the plate glass, her mind working over the scenario of the outcome of her actions.  They could escape onto the roof and drop to the font yard, but how many were there?  Could she take them?  Or could they outrun them? Well, first things first.  Out of the room, then decide what to do.

The banging on the bedroom door stopped for a moment, before returning in full force with some added help.  It wouldn't be long before they broke through and it sounded as if someone had crashed into the bathroom.

Oh, God, the bathroom.

"Dylan, go lock the door!" Buffy ordered, trying to open the window that had decided to stick.

The window had barely opened a quarter of the way, letting the hot night air fill the room as the child numbly nodded her head, and then darted for the bathroom entrance.  She had no more than reached for the doorknob when the plywood flew opened, and a hooded figure stalked in.  Dylan took a step back with each one he took forward, the two staring at each other intensely.  

"Dylan!" Buffy exclaimed, leaving the window and heading towards her child.

**********

The arrow sailed gracefully through the air, slicing straight through its intended mark effortlessly.

"Aarrgg!" a painful scream pierced the hot, peaceful night.

The stake fell to the ground, thumping against the grass as Travers cradled the wounded flesh against his chest.  The arrow went straight through the palm of his hand, so half of it was on one side, and the rest on the other. Travers clawed his injured hand before turning his heated glare to the boy.

"You insolent little brat!  I'll kill you for this!"

Sebastian slid the strap of the cross bow off his shoulder and let the weapon fall to the ground.

"No, you won't be hurting me anymore," the young man said dangerously, as if daring the old man to try something.  

For the first time since he snatched the kid from that army base in Florida, Travers actually found himself afraid of the child.  It was like when a pit bull turned on its master, he couldn't believe that it was happening to him and, yet, at the same time, he felt a part of him had wondered exactly how long it would take for it too.  As always, Travers had surrounded himself with traitors.

The sneer on the boy's face turned to a coy smile as he said, "Besides, I'm not the one you should be worried about."

He jerked his chin to the group Travers had turned his back too, causing the old man to turn around to look back just as Spike's fist came in contact with the ex-Council leader's jaw.  Sebastian watched Grandfather's whole body jerk to the side from the force of the hit, then fall to the ground unconscious.  Yeah, that was satisfying to watch for everyone there.

Spike stood over the fallen man, his eyes flashing yellow for a brief second while a growl escaped from deep within his throat.  He wanted more, he wanted to go in for the kill, but only restrained from doing so because he was sure that Buffy would want a piece of the wanker too.  And anything she wanted, he was more than willing to give.

"Nice punch, Blondie," Faith said, trotting up beside him with Angel.

The older vampire knelt down next the old man and reached over to check his pulse.  Unfortunately, it was still going strong, but by the size of the shiner whelping up on the old man's face, he would be out for awhile.

"We should take him back to the Magic Box," the dark-haired bloodsucker said, wrapping one old arm around the back of his neck and lifting the body.  Travers hung loosely at his side, looking like someone who had too much to drink and was about to be taken home by a friend.  

As his head bobbed towards his chest, Faith picked up his injured hand and was about to pull the arrow free when she thought better.  No, best to just leave it there.  Wouldn't want to take the fun out of pulling it free when he's awake.

"Yeah," Spike said, eyeing the unconscious man.  "I'm sure the Watcher will love seein' his old boss again."

"I bet B will too," Faith agreed.

Nodding, his head, Spike said, "I'll go get her after we get him all nice and comfy at the-"

"She won't be there," Sebastian spoke up, seemingly reminding the adults that he was there.  When he saw that he had their attention, he went on, "Not if Dylan did her job right."

There was a collective balk at his statement before the three exclaimed in unison, "What?"

**********

Buffy froze halfway across the room when Dylan stepped out of the robed figure's way and let him proceed towards her mother.  The fear that had been etched on the girl's face had been replaced with contempt and sadness as several other men charged in behind the first, each ignoring the child and focusing on Buffy.  They surrounded the pregnant woman, who was looking from side to side, her body slightly crouched like a wild animal about to attack anyone unfortunate enough to get too close.

Several of them closed in on her at once, each going for a different part of her body.  Buffy clumsily pushed a few away from her, but she really couldn't fight; her sense of balance was wobbly at best and it was far too dangerous with the baby.  She soon found herself being restrained by the men, who were holding onto her as tightly as they could.

During this time, Dylan had trotted over to the bedroom door, unlocked it, and let even more men come pouring in. They seemed to make sure that the slayer was indeed incapacitated, then parted like the Red Sea for what the pregnant blonde could only assume was their leader.  Unlike the others, his hood had been pulled back, revealing a familiar looking man.

"You," Buffy said dangerously.

Kenneth smiled at the woman, but turned his attention to the little girl who stood at his side.  Reaching over, he gently rubbed the top of her head, messing up her curly blonde locks like he was some old friend who hadn't seen her in a long time.

"You did very well," he praised, smiling warmly at the girl.  "Your grandfather will be very pleased."

Betrayal hit Buffy hard as she stared in disbelief at her daughter.  Dylan did this?!  No, it couldn't be.  It must be a mistake.  She couldn't have!  She _wouldn't_ have!

"Dylan?" Buffy asked, her voice small and trembling.

The girl briefly glanced at her, then dropped her gaze to the floor, answering Buffy's silent plea for this to be wrong.

Oh, God, she did.

Buffy felt something hard hit her in the back of the head, which sent her into darkness.  After all, an unconscious slayer was much easier to deal with than one who was not.  Especially one who had just been betrayed by her own child.

**********


	15. Truth Be Told

Please forgive the lateness.  I know this story is coming out slowly, but, hey, it's getting close to the end.  Well, I hope you guys enjoy and, as always, please review.

Special thanks to Kriken for being such a great beta. 

****************

_Part 15: Truth Be Told_

Sebastian walked with the souled vampire, his eyes locked dead ahead as they traveled along the dark, downtown streets of Sunnydale.  Neither one of them had said a word since leaving the mansion, not even about what they discovered. 

_Empty.  The place was empty.  All the people who had been there hours before were now gone, leaving only the creepy feeling the old home had always possessed.  _

_They had gone there after finding that Dylan had indeed followed orders and let Kenneth and his group take Buffy and herself.  Connor had just come to when they arrived, but __Willow__ was in pretty bad shape.  _

_Even if they were possibly going straight into the lions den after finding the two Summers women gone, Spike had told Faith to take the two to the hospital.  The redhead needed help and Connor needed to be looked at, just-in-case.  Besides, this was only supposed to be a recon mission, until they found that there was nothing to recon._

_Sebastian stood back, and watched as Spike stalked to the center of the living room, barely containing his rage. _

_The boy jumped slightly when Spike grabbed the edge of the coffee table and threw the piece of furniture across the room.  He growled as it shattered upon hitting the fireplace mantel, then turned his burning yellow eyes at the child who had brought him._

_"Where are they?" he demanded._

_"I don't know."_

_The vampire closed the gap between them._

_"I'll ask you again," he said, grabbing Sebastian by the shirt and lifting his whole body up to where he was now looking him in the eye. "Where are my wife and daughter?"_

_Bastian raised his arms between the ones that held up him, and swatted them away, causing Spike to drop him to his feet again.  Taking a few steps away from the bigger man, Sebastian continued to glare._

_"I don't know."  Slowly, the boy straightened his back and glanced over his shoulder towards the main entrance.  _

_He didn't know where they could have taken them.  Then, no one told him anything anyway.  Generally, he had to pick things up by ease-dropping when no one thought he was listening or ignored the fact that he was standing right there.  Still, Kenneth and Diana had not said a word around him about not coming back to the mansion once they had Buffy.  But that didn't mean that they didn't discuss it with someone else._

_He turned his gaze back to Spike.  _

_"But that doesn't mean that Grandfather doesn't."_

The two had headed right back to the Magic Box after that.  Angel had volunteered to take the still unconscious old man there while the others had gone to checkout Sebastian's claims of betrayal.  

The shop was filled Scoobies, who were mostly gathered around the ex-Head of the Council they had tied to a chair.  Each member present bore the same expression of disgust and hatred for the unconscious man.  And none of them seemed upset by the large bruise starting to form on his face, or pointed out that Angel might have bound him a little too tightly.

Dawn was the first to notice their return.  The discontent for the Watcher melted off her face and was replaced by worry.  She was silently begging the vampire to have some better news for her.  But Spike could only drop his head, telling her that there was none.

"I take it you did not find them," Giles said.

The vampire shook his head.  "No.  They abandoned the mansion a while before we got there." 

"Where else might they have gone?"

The question seemed to be directed at the group, but everyone's eyes turned to the young boy that had accompanied Spike.  Even the children, who had been hiding under the loft, had turned their attention to him.  

"Kid says he doesn't know," Spike said, glaring at the boy before turning back to Buffy's old Watcher.  "But said Tweed Boy might."

Giles considered Travers for a moment.  "That may be true.  But he would never help us."

"Especially since he kind of did all this," Xander said.

"That would be working against his own gains," Oz added.

Andrew sighed, leaving the children under the loft to join the grownups, ever ready to add his own useless two cents.  "Yeah, to bad we don't have Wonder Woman's magic lasso of truth.  Then we could just make him tell us."

As the young man continued to stare sadly at the old Watcher, the rest of the group exchanged a look.

"Andrew, you're a bloody genius!" Giles exclaimed, heading off to the back room.

"What?  We actually have a magic lasso of truth?  Why wasn't I told about this?"

**********

Buffy slowly opened her eyes.  Her head was throbbing, causing her to groan as she came back into consciousness.  The child inside of her was being its normal, active self, kicking against her ribcage like his sister used to be so fond of doing.  Groaning, the blonde reached to touch her stomach, only to find her arms restrained.

That got her attention, causing Buffy to fully forget the slumber she had been enjoying.  She began to jerk wildly at her arms, but could not lift them any higher than a few inches off the bed.  When she pulled at her feet, she found that they, too, were bound.

"You might want to calm yourself," a cool voice said.  "You wouldn't want to upset the baby, would you?"

Buffy lifted her head the best she could and peered off into a dark corner of the dim room.  A sleek figure sat there; the top part of her body hidden in the blackness, leaving only her perfect legs crossed in the moonlight.  The moon was the only thing providing any light from an open window, and Buffy found it nearly impossible to make out the woman.

"Who are you?" the blonde asked.  "Where's my daughter?"

"She's fine.  She's with my husband."

Slowly, the woman rose from her chair, but her face was still hidden.  Even as she walked across the room and to the foot of Buffy's bed, her features were nothing but darkness.

"That can't be comfortable," the woman mused, before bending down and disappearing from the slayer's sight completely.  There was a cranking sound, and Buffy felt herself being raised to a sitting position.  Satisfied, the woman stood back up.  "There, that's better.  Isn't it?"

"Not quiet," the slayer said, jerking once more on the restrains.

"I'm afraid those are rather necessary for the time being."  

Now that she was sitting up, Buffy looked around the room.  

It was old, and looked as if it had seen better days.  The walls were dingy, with wallpaper that was cracked and peeling off.  There was old medical equipment that had long ago been abandoned and was gathering dust.  And there was a track on the ceiling for a privacy sheet.  

Oh, God, she was in a hospital room!

Panic unintentionally set in, causing her stomach to turn as she fought once more for her freedom.  But her bonds held strong, leading the slayer to believe that perhaps they had given her something.  Yeah, now that she thought about it, she did feel kind of weak.

"Please, calm down," the woman said again.

Buffy had every intention of fighting the request, and even saying a few choice words that mothers should not say, when the woman sat down on the bed.   As the slayer looked up, ready to let her venomous words fly, she found herself staring into a pair of deep, piercing eyes.  She found herself transfixed by them, unable to look away or fight.  They caused Buffy to settle back and relax.

"There," the woman said warmly, almost sounding like her mother.  "Isn't that better?"

A familiar tightness twisted in the blonde's stomach, causing her to scrunch up her face from the pain and draw in a sharp breath, the calm she had felt now forgotten.

Oh, God, not now.  Please not now. 

The smile on the dark-haired woman's face grew bright and excited.  "He's coming.  My boy is coming."

**********

The first thing Travers was aware of was the blast of cold water that hit his face.  He gagged a bit, then opened his eyes.  The vampire backed away from him, a now empty glass clutched in his hand.  Mr. Giles was seated in front of the old Watcher.

"Good morning, Starshine," a brown-haired man said.  Travers recognized him as one of the slayer's friends, though he had never bothered to learn the boy's name, since he was of no importance.

Ignoring the young man, Travers kept his attention on the fellow Brit.  "How good it is to see you again, Mr. Giles.  Forgive me if I do not stand up and greet you properly."

Giles' eyes remained narrow, but Travers ignored him in favor of testing his restraints.  He pulled at the rope that bound his wrist together behind his back, gritting his teeth from the pain that shot up his injured arm.  They had at least removed the arrow, and, thanks to the tight ropes, they had effectively stopped the bleeding.  Knowing Rupert, they probably even bandaged the wound.  

Soft to the end.  

That was why the man in front of him was an unsuitable watcher.  He let his emotions get the better of him.  Emotions were for the weak.  Leaders, real leaders, couldn't have them; they would just get in the way.  Rupert never did learn that lesson.  But then, that was why Travers had become the head of the Council and he did not.

Travers glanced at the floor around him and snorted.  

"A truth spell, Rupert?  How very like you," the old man mocked.  "The mystical, hands-off approach."

"This coming from a guy who uses women and children to fight his battles?" Ms. Faith said.  She quirked an eyebrow upward, considering Travers like he was some exotic dish her mother was trying to get her try just once, before asking, "Once we get the info, we can do the hands-on thing all we want, right?"

"By all means," Rupert said, never taking his eyes off the old man.

Travers couldn't help but snort again.  Yeah, he'd believe that when he saw it for himself.

They had him in a training room, probably the one they had set up for Ms. Summers in the back of that dreadful little store Rupert owned.  The equipment was no where near the standard that they used at the Council headquarters; most was old, worn and looked as if they had seen far better days.  Travers was surprised that, trained on this equipment, Ms. Summers lasted as long as she had.

The group that had gathered before him was made up of some of the players in the game; Rupert, the vampires, the miracle child, and Ms. Faith.  There was that one friend of Ms. Summers who had come to watch the festivities and greeted him so warmly when he awoke, but Travers pegged him as little more than a bit player.  

And then there was the boy.

Sebastian sat Indian style on top of a large stack of mattresses, watching the old man.  His face was even and unreadable, just like it always was.  

Funny how Travers always thought that to be an asset, and wished he would teach Dylan such a trick; now that very asset had proven to be the means of the Watcher's downfall.  He couldn't read the boy.  He hadn't been able to tell what he was thinking and planning to do.  Now, here Travers sat, tied to a chair being interrogated by a group of inept and fairly stupid people because of his own failing with the child.  

"Well," the onetime Head of Council said.  "Best be on with it, I suppose.  Don't want to keep that lovely little couple of psychos waiting, do we?"

"Pot and kettle there, mate," the younger vampire said coolly.

"Yes, I suppose you would say that," Travers bit back.

He heard it growl at him but paid it no mind.  The older one, Angelus, had stepped up and held his grandchilde at bay.  After all, if they killed him now, they wouldn't get the information they wanted, now would they?

Once sure William the Bloody wasn't about to rip Travers' throat out, Angelus' son asked, "Are we sure that the spell is working?"

"Only one way to find out."  Ms. Summers' friend took a step closer to the captive, and asked, "Hey, Grandpaw.  What do you think of our little vampire friends here?"

Briskly, Travers answered, "That the world would have been far better off if Ms. Summers had done her job and destroyed both of these creatures as her duty calls for her to do, instead of whoring herself out to them which released Angelus and now will potentially destroy the world." 

"Looks like it's working," the carpenter muttered to himself before something the old man said struck him.  "Whoa, wait.  Go back to that 'destroy the world' thing."

"That's why you freaked when I told you about Buffy," Sebastian spoke up from his perch.  "Because Kenneth and Diana are planning on doing something more than just taking the baby, aren't they?  It's more than just payment."

"Payment?!" Spike barked, his eyes flashing yellow.

"Of course it is more than payment."

Angel was having a hard time keeping Spike back this time.  The ex-Watcher thought that perhaps it was time he took over this interrogation before Travers blurted something else out that would surely cause his demise before they knew everything.

"Payment for what?" Giles asked with a controlled voice.  

"They brought Ms. Rosenberg back from the Shadow Realm for me," he explained.  "It was discussed then.  They helped me with the problem of getting my damphry back, I would help obtain one for them.  The agreement was struck again after I had them raise Ms. Summers for me so I could break Dylan in properly."

"Break her in properly," Spike said through his teeth.

Chuckling, Travers answered, "Nothing like a mother witnessing their child's darkest moment.  Brakes even the most stubborn spirit."

This time, Angel wasn't able to hold the vampire back.  In a flash of black, Spike had knocked Giles out of the way, grabbed the old man by collar, and lifted him and the chair he was tied to upward.

"What did you do to her?" he growled, the demon threatening to surface at any moment.

The Head Watcher blinked once, his jaw hanging from surprise as he stared at the vampire before him.  Then, a wicked grin grew on his face.

"She didn't tell you," Travers mused happily.  

The tone reminded Spike of Angelus; that 'I'm enjoying this pain I'm about to cause you' with just a hint of the true insanity behind his eyes.  And Angelus was crazy, more so than Drusilla could ever dream to be.  To his grandsire, death was his art; his passion.  He didn't kill for food.  He didn't kill because he was hungry.  He killed because he liked to.  It was their nature, that's true enough, but most had their limits; Angelus did not.

And it was terrifying that a human being had just reminded him of the old bastard.

"Well, let me be the first to congratulate you then, William the Bloody, on producing a child that is just as good at the kill as you."

"What?"

"That precious little girl of yours, your own little redemption, is nothing more than a killer."

"That's a lie!" Sebastian barked defiantly.

"I'm under a truth spell, boy," the old man pointed out, savoring the look on the vampire's face.  "How could it be a lie?"

The room was silent for a long moment, none of them daring to even breathe as they absorbed the information.  Now that they knew, about what Dylan had done, things were making sense.  How she was trying so hard to act like everything was normal.  Why she never once spoke about what had occurred during her absence.  And that look, the knowing one that she and Buffy were always passing.  Everything about his daughter's actions over the past month just fell into place and formed a more horrid picture than he could have ever imagined.

Oh, God.  What had this lunatic done?

Spike let go of the old man's shirt, causing the chair to fall back hard and scrape against the floor.  If there was one thing that had hardly ever happened in his life, it was him being struck speechless.  Buffy had done it a couple of times – once when she told him about Dylan and when she had returned from the dead – but those had been the only times.  Now, the onetime bleached blond was at a loss for words, and could just stare at the man who had taken his daughter's innocence.

"Dylan killed someone?" Connor asked.

"Broke his neck like she had been doing it all her life," Travers stated proudly.  "One well placed kick, and that, as they say, was that.  The force twisted his head clean around his body.  There are pictures, you know.  Crime scene photos.  I'm sure that a… _person like yourself would love to have one to mount on his wall."_

"It's all your fault," Sebastian countered, defending his friend.  "You started the whole thing!  Dylan was just defending herself, like you knew she would."

"Of course I knew she would," he barked.  "Self preservation is a fundamental drive found in all creatures.  Even in backstabbing little things like you."

"Hey!  Lay off, Grandpa," Faith bit coldly, stepping forward.  "Look, I'm all willing to lay the colossal smack down you have comin' for what you did to those kids - not to mention the shit you put me and B through way back when - but the way I figure it, we got more important things to do right now than kick your crusty old, British ass all the way to hell like you deserve.  So why don't you start singin' like the good little canary Giles turned you into and tell us where in the hell B and Pickle are."

"They're not back at the mansion?" Travers asked, sounding surprised.  "Well, then, I suppose you wouldn't have went through all this trouble if they were."

"So you don't know?" Faith asked.

"Not an exact location, no."

The brunette slayer shook her head, a small grin growing on her face.  "Looks like it's ass kickin' time, then."

"You don't know exactly," Giles interrupted, stepping forward before Faith could throw the first punch.  "But you have a general idea, then?"

Travers made a face.  "Really, Rupert, use your head.  They need the child.  Where would you take a woman who is about to give birth soon?"

"A hospital."

"Or somewhere like one, with medical supplies." 

Angel said, "Xander."

"On it," the carpenter said, taking off for the door that led into the show room to tell the other what to look for.

"Of course, they could care less if Ms. Summers makes it, but the child must live," Travers said more to himself than them.

Giles pressed the old man.  "Why?  What are they planning on using the baby for?"

Travers sighed.  "I told you this already.  They want to use it to destroy the world."

"How?"

A tiny grin reappeared on Giles old boss's face.  "Substantia Seco."

Travers watched as his old employee turned several shades whiter, his eyes growing large behind his glasses.  Well, he would be proud of Rupert for knowing the reference, if he didn't hate him so much.

"Substantia Seco?" Angel repeated.  The words felt strange in his mouth.  He never was any good with Latin.  "Doesn't that mean-."

"Divided Spirit," Spike provided.  "Roughly translated."

Travers smiled at him.  "Give the beast a pat on the head."

"Dear, Lord," Giles said.    

Oh, no.  That look wasn't good.  

"What have you done?"

"Made a pact with the devil," Travers said, leaning back to make himself comfortable.  "Don't worry so much, Mr. Giles. You might not have come prepared, but I most certainly have."

"What do you mean?" Sebastian asked.

The old man glanced at the child.  He knew what he meant; there was no way he couldn't.  But, still, he had asked and, when Travers opened his mouth, the truth would come out no matter what.

"Dylan has her assignment, and, unlike you, I do not think that she is about to turn on me.  She'll do her job.  This was what she was born for, to stop evil such as this.  And you know she has to stop it, don't you, Rupert?"  The old man smiled wickedly.

She would do her job, he knew she would.  

That baby would not live long enough to even take its first breath.  His granddaughter would make sure of that.

**********

"Where are they?"

The room was busy, everyone trying to get everything ready for the ceremony later that evening.  The preparation was taking longer than expected, since they had to move everything from the mansion and had not been able to focus on this task.  

And now there was an annoying little girl buzzing about, slowing things down even more.

Kenneth turned from one of his followers, and plastered a large, faux smile on his face that adults use with pestering children.

"I told you.  Your grandfather and Sebastian had some business to take care of," the middle-aged man explained.  "But they'll be here soon enough."

Dylan frowned at the man.  Her arms were crossed and the look on her face said she didn't believe him.

God, he couldn't wait to be rid of her.  Just a few more hours, and her part will be done and he would never have to look at her angelic little face ever again.  

"Emily."

A random cult member appeared at his side.  She was an older woman, with gray hair and a wrinkled face.   She looked like she should be home baking cookies for her grandchildren, not participating in cult activity.

"Why don't you help Dylan get ready?" Kenneth asked her.

"Of course," she answered in much the same tone before turning to make the child leave with her.

Dylan continued to frown, but then followed her now assigned chaperon.  

Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly.  Grandfather wasn't here, and neither was Bastian.  Well, she guessed that didn't change anything.  She knew what she had to do.  And, God forgive her, she would do it.

Yeah, she was going to get ready.  

She just wondered if Kenneth and Diana were.

**********


	16. Hear the Tale

_Part 16: Hear the Tale_

"Any luck?" Angel asked as he walked into the front room where the Scoobies were seated.

The others that had been present at the 'interrogation' were spread about the room, taking up any free space they could find.  

Connor had volunteered to watch the prisoner while they held a meeting up front.  

After leaving Joyce back at the hospital with Willow, he and Faith had high-tailed it back to the Magic Box, both more than ready to do their share.  The young man might be a bit bruised from the hit he took, but he was still good for the fight.  

"Nothing yet," Xander said, standing over Van and Anya, who were about to perform a location spell.  

There were buildings drawn on the floor with names written under them: Sunnydale General, the VA hospital, even a couple of veterinary offices.  Any place they could think of with medical supplies had a spot represented within the crudely made map of Sunnydale. 

It was easy for Angel to forget that the ten-year-old had gypsy blood in him.  He had some power, and, with Willow out of commission, he was the logical choice to do a spell.  Oz didn't appear to enjoy the idea, but he said nothing and just watched their conjuring.

"Substantia Seco," Spike said, his eyes resting on Giles. "What does that have to do with my son?"

Giles stood at the table, searching through a pile of books that the others had been going through earlier that evening, while they waited for him to answer the question.

"Andrew," he called, never lifting his eyes from his task.  The young man fumbled to his feet.  "Take the children to the hospital and wait there with Joyce."

"Um, what about…?" The shopkeeper nervously gestured towards Van, who was still concentrating on the spell he and Anya were trying to perform.  

"I'll send him along later with Anya," Giles answered.  

Swallowing hard, Andrew nodded his head, then went to collect the two Harris children.  

Cash didn't know what was going on; just that it was something bad.  He briefly looked up to his father, as if Xander would give him some sort of answer, but he could only offer his son a small smile for reassurance.

Jessie was a bit harder to make leave.  She had been around longer than her little brother, and knew good and well what that vibe in the shop meant.  There was a good chance that someone wasn't coming back.

"Daddy," she said in a small voice, pleading with him to go with them.

"I'll be okay.  I promise." 

Xander bent down and kissed the top of his daughter's dark head, silently praying that it wouldn't be the last time.

"You too, Dawn," Giles added.

"What?!  Why?  I can help!"

The older Watcher found the book he was looking for, and began to flip through the pages.  "Not in this you can't."

Dawn was about to object again, when Spike cut her off.  "Go on, lil' bit.  Do as Rupes says."

"I'm not a kid anymore, you know.  I can help in the fight."

"I know," Spike agreed.  "That's why I need you to go with 'em.  In case something happens, we need you to make sure your mum and the kiddies are kept safe."

"Yeah, Dawnie," Xander agreed, sending her a pleading look.  She sighed, and the carpenter added, "Please.  For me."

She nodded towards the kid Spike had dragged in earlier, that was now sitting on top of the counter.  "What about him?"

Sebastian looked up at the young woman and raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'are you going to make me leave?' 

"I know Kenneth and Diana far better than any of you do," he said before dropping his gaze back towards his hands.  "Besides, I helped make this mess."

Letting out a frustrated groan, Dawn stood up from seat and headed towards Andrew and the kids.  "Fine.  But if any of you end up…" She reached over and covered Jessie's ears, "D-E-A-D, don't come crying to me."

She gave them a look, trying to hide the fact that she was scared, then turned to head out into the night.  As the door swung closed, Angel heard Cash ask, "Andrew, what's Dee-Ad?"

Faith took Dawn's perch on the stairs.  "Well, now that the kiddies are gone..."  The brunette slayer glanced down at Van who was still concentrating hard on the spell and then up to Sebastian.  "Mostly, anyway, why don't you tell us grownups the stitch about this substance secto thing."

Ignoring her comment, Giles asked her, "Do you know this?"  

The Watcher turned the book in his hand around to allow the slayer to see the picture inside.  It was a simple drawing, a fingernail moon with something that looked like an eye.  She studied it for a moment, then blinked.

"Yeah, I've seen it before."

"Where?"

She shrugged.  "Couple of the murdered cult members down in South America had it tattooed on their bodies.  Why?"

"I was afraid you would say that."  Sighing, Giles took one last look at the book his hands, then placed it on the counter.  "Do you know the story of how the first vampire came into being?"

A curious look was passed between the adults.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Spike asked impatiently. 

Giles glared at him.  "Just answer the question."

Angel did so for the group. "No one knows for sure, but legend has it that a demon mixed its blood with that of a dying man to create a hybrid, a demon with a human body."

The Watcher paused as if he were letting the group absorb this information.  Angel thought he was actually trying to figure out what to say next.

Giles said, "The demon that vampires are said to be created from was a remarkable creature if the legends are true.  It said that it ate the life force of the living.  That's why vampires have to drink blood, because they are the creature in a diluted form and blood-."

"Is life," Angel finished, following along.  He had never heard this part of the story before. Judging by the others' reactions, neither had they.

"So, what happened to Mamma Vamp?" Faith asked.

"Legend has it that it was killed millennia before the written word was invented.  That's why this is nothing more than a legend, a bedtime story Watchers tell their children."

"This is all right interesting, Watcher, but what does it have to do with what's going on?" Spike asked, his already thinning patience nearly breaking.

"It has to do with everything," Giles answered, a touch of heat in his tone.  It died quickly, though, and the older looking man continued.  "The creature was banished, but not before something was taken from it; something that was meant to help rid the world of the monsters that it had created.  

"Men lived in tribes then…packs really, and they knew something had to be done, else they would all find themselves one of the 'Changed'.  So, they summoned together three very power wise men to help put an end to the demon and its children.  They set a trap for the…'Mamma Vamp'.  They took a girl from one of the tribes, the one that had discovered ways to fight off the vampires and even kill them."

"Tempting bait," Angel said.  "Pretty smart."

"Yes, it proved to be," Giles agreed.  "They took the girl to the mountains where the demon dwelled and chained her to an altar that others used to make virgin sacrifices to the demon in hopes that it would leave their tribe alone."

"I wonder how come sacrifices always had to be virgins…" Xander mused to himself.  "I mean, it's not like the demon's going to care.  All it's going to see is a stupid human that can't escape.  Why would it care whether or not she…?"  The carpenter found the room staring at him.  "Um, sorry."

"As I was saying," the Watcher said, giving Xander a dirty look.  "They set the trap and waited for the creature to come to feed from her, to steal the very essence of her soul.  Details are sketchy at best about the events following, and have a tendency to change from Watcher to Watcher, but all that we do know for sure is that, when it came for her, the men performed some sort of…spell?  Incantation?  Whatever it was, it essentially reversed the…feeding process.  Instead of taking her life into it, she took its essence into her.  It changed her.  She was still human, but she had the same strength and abilities that the Changed had.  She could sense them.  She could fight them.  She could kill them like no other man or woman alive."

The group stared at him for a long moment, trying to take in what he had just said.  

Finally, Xander spoke up.  "So, that's how the slayer line got started?  Because some creepy guys needed bait for Big Mamma?"

Giles shrugged.  "That's how the legend has it."

"That's how come they have the demon genes," Spike mused to himself.

The onetime librarian sighed. "That would make sense."

Most of the group balked at the revelation.  Off to the side, Xander yelp, "Demon genes?" 

Ignoring the carpenter, Angel asked, "Why didn't we ever hear of this before?"

"Because it was a legend – a myth really," the Watcher defended.  "I haven't even thought about the story since I was young boy."

"'Til now," Spike pointed out.  "Why?"

Drawing a deep breath, Giles held it for a moment before letting it out.  

"Substantia seco," he said, as if the two words should explain everything.  "About five hundred B.C., a group of Watchers broke from the Council.  It was rumored that the leader had lost his mind and threw himself into dark magic because he was too close to his slayer when she died.  It was a story told to push the idea that a good Watcher must keep an emotional distance from their charges.  Anyway, the group aligned themselves with the idea that the legend was true, and treated it as fact instead of fiction.  It made sense to them, that it would be the only way that a girl could be able to stand against demons like the slayer could.  But instead of respecting the girl who had the power, they began to respect the creature who unwillingly gave it to her.  That respect grew to admiration.  Admiration turned to praise.  Praise became worship."

"They became a cult," Sebastian said.

"Yes.  A very dangerous one.  They felt that the demon should be put together again.  That the blood and the spirit should be one as was originally intended.  But in order to do that, they would need a creature that was made from both in the first place.  A body that carried the creature's blood and essence."

"A damphyr," Spike dared to breath.  "Essence of a slayer-"

"Blood of a vampire," Angel finished.  "They're planning on using Buffy's baby as a vessel.  Aren't they?"

"Yes," he said, walking around the counter.  He bent down and, when he came back up, he had a half empty bottle of Scotch in one hand and glass in the other.

"Whoa, wait.  Back the story train up here for a second," Faith said, trying to process everything.  "Are you sayin' that the cult I've been trackin' is not only responsible for takin' B, but are also a bunch of psycho ex-Watchers who want to bring back the original demon that created both the vampire and the slayer and stick its spirit – soul – whatever into the bun Buffy's got bakin' in her oven?"

"In a nutshell," Oz answered for Giles, who was in the middle of pouring himself a drink.

"Well, why didn't they, you know, just use the two half vamps they already had?" the slayer asked, glancing at one of the aforementioned children.

Giles shook his head.  "They were too old, they're souls had already been firmly placed and attached to their personalities.  This is what the demon feeds on.  It could devour their souls, but could no longer take its place because their souls had simply been in them to long.  An infant's soul is new and easily rid of and replaced within the child's body.  It's the same with an ensouled vampire where the soul isn't fully connected to who they are.  But this creature can only live if it has the blood of a damphyr in its host to survive."

As the Watcher began to down the contents of the glass, Spike asked, "How do we stop it?"

Giles finished off the glass of liquor, then began to pour himself another before answering.  "They'll have to wait until right after the baby is born to perform the ritual. Our only chance is stopping them before they can call upon the spirit so it can enter the baby's body and claim it as its own."

"And if we don't make it?" Sebastian asked.

The Watcher's face darkened, having lost interest in the drink.  "If they perform the ritual, and the demon goes inside the child-."

"Don't," Spike warned, knowing what Giles was about to say.

The older man lifted his eyes to the younger looking one.  "Even if you don't want to think about it, you know what has to be done if the ritual is performed."  He dropped his gaze back to his drink and sighed.  "Besides, I don't think it'll be a problem anyway.  Travers already said…"

The room sat quiet for a moment, the rest of Giles' sentence echoing in their minds.  Only Oz seemed to be lost, but didn't say anything.

"Would she really do it?" Xander asked, breaking the silence.  He looked over to Bastian before going on.  "Would Dill really…you know?"

All eyes rested on the boy, who never once lifted his gaze, giving them their answer.  Yeah, she would do it.  After all, that's what she was trained for, no matter how much she might not want to.

"Found 'em!" Van's voice echoed throughout the room.  

Neither the child nor Anya had heard the conversation that was going on around them, having been too engrossed in the spell.  Unlike Willow and Tara, they didn't have enough power between them to be able to concentrate on two things while performing magic, so the tension was lost to them.

"Where are they?" Angel asked.

"Right outside town," Anya answered, nodding to the crudely made map that rested between her and the boy.

"That looks like the area where the old charity hospital was," Xander said, looking up to Oz to make sure he was right.  Once the werewolf nodded in agreement, the carpenter added, "It's been closed for over twenty years."

"Sound like our place, then," Spike said before turning and heading towards the back where the weapons were kept.

He was not about to lose his family again, especially not to a bunch of crazy descendants of ex-Watchers.  They had already suffered so much because of one; there was no way that another group was going to take away even more than they had already lost.  This was going to end that night, one way or the other.

**********

Buffy's face scrunched up as yet another contraction hit her hard.  They were getting worse and closer together.  And her water had broken.  After having gone through this once before, the slayer knew what it meant; the baby would be there soon.  

So much for Maya's prediction that she had at least another two weeks.

The slayer sucked in short, sharp breaths through her teeth, holding each one for a second before releasing it and taking another.  God, if they were already drugging her to make her weak, the least they could have done was to add something to help with the pain.  

Ugh, giving birth naturally completely sucks!

"Now, now," Diana said soothingly, walking around Buffy's bed.  "It'll be alright.  It'll all be over soon."

She reached over to touch Buffy's stomach for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.  The slayer did her best to move away, but the restraints held her in place.  The dark-haired woman closed her eyes and the familiar smile rose on her lips from the image only she could see in her head.

"He's going to be such a handsome boy," Diana mused aloud.  "So strong and proud.  He's going to make a fine son."

"You come near my baby and swear to God I'll-."

Another contraction cut the slayer's threat off and turned it into a painful grunt followed by a whimper.

Diana continued to smile, amused by Buffy's continuing stubbornness of refusing to accept the inevitable.  The blonde didn't understand that the child inside of her did not belong to her, it belonged to Mrs. Shelton.  She had worked for it all her life.  

She had married Kenneth so the child would have the father it needed.  A leader, a strong man who would still follow her orders because of foolish love and devotion.

She had taken a great risk to help Mr. Travers retrieve his precious little angel so he would give her what she wanted.  

Diana had been the one to see that the only mother that could give her son life was brought back through the blood of all those men and women in South America.  The Powers knew what she had in store, and would have never granted the gift of returning Ms. Summers.  That was why she had trapped her soul in the Between.  

She had been the one to retrieve her when the time was right and her child could be born ten years after the real millennia had occurred.  The calendars are off by a few years, and say it was only May of 2008.  She knew better.  Ms. Summers was the last slayer called in the old millennia, that was why she was chosen to be the mother of the angel and fulfill the prophesy.  Only, she fell in love, and has ended up fulfilling another one that called for the very destruction of all that she holds dear.  

Diana had worked very hard to have her son, this special child.  No one else on earth deserved him more than she, and no one was about to take him from her.  She'd kill them before they did.

"It won't be long now," she said as Buffy continued to groan and twist in pain.  "I'll finally have my beautiful son."  Leaning in close, she whispered into the blonde's ear in a familiar Jamaican voice, "Inn't dat right?"

**********


	17. Ripper

Okay, so it's been a long, long, long time since I've updated. All I can say is sorry 'bout that. I've actually had this for awhile, but I just sort of, kind of forgot about it. Oops. sheepish grin Well, better late than never, right? Anyway, not much really happens in this chapter, but back to the action in the next one, I promise.

Thanks to Kriken for betaing this for me.

Hope you guys enjoy.

_Part 17: Ripper_

Travers sighed, his head falling backwards against the back of the chair to give him a clear view of the ceiling. They had his wrists bound tightly, and it was becoming quiet obvious that he wasn't going to be escaping any time soon.

"You might as well get comfortable," a familiar British voice said.

Giles stood in the doorway that led to the front of the shop. His arms were crossed, and his face unreadable as he stared at the old man that at one time had been his superior. But not anymore, by any means.

"You won't be going anywhere for awhile."

"Ah, Rupert. Come to keep the prisoner company while the others go out to stop our beloved little angel?"

It was true. After sending Anya and Van to the hospital to wait, the others had headed out to save Buffy and the children, leaving just Giles and Travers back at the Magic Box. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt the Ripper grin.

Who says that God doesn't answer prayers?

"They've gone to clean up the mess you made, yes," Giles answered, walking across the room and taking the seat they had set up across from their prisoner.

"That was very courteous of them, but, as I said before, unnecessary. Dylan is a very capable girl and very loyal…Unlike other people."

Giles couldn't help but snort. "If that was an attempt to play on my old alliances to the Council, I suggest you save your breath. The only loyalties that matters to me now are those between myself and this – how did you put it years ago in your claim for dismissal? Band of misfits?"

Chuckling, Travers corrected, "I believe the word I used was miscreants, which seems even more appropriate now then it did then, especially with the additions of William the Bloody and our lovely Ms. Faith. Why, I say they fit right in, don't they?"

"The only miscreant I see is you," Giles bit back. He continued to stare hard at the old man, who just smiled at his accusation. "No, I take it back. Miscreant is too good for the likes of you. How about lowlife? No? Child abuser than? Common criminal? Kidnapper? Stop whenever you think I finally have the right word."

"Careful, Rupert," the old man grinned. "Or I'll start to think you don't like me anymore."

Dryly, Giles replied, "I can't imagine what would ever give you that idea."

Standing from his chair, the ex-Watcher crossed the room to study the assortment of weapons that decorated one of the walls. Some where missing, either having been taken into the battle that was about to occur or having been lost long ago in another, but most still hung in place.

The blades caught the dim light and shot shattered ruminates of it across the room. One in particular, a short blade with a black, carved handle, caught his attention. Picking up the weapon, Giles let the weight of it adjust in his hand, allowing him to get a feel for the knife.

"Tell me, Travers, what did you except to get from all this?" he asked as he headed back towards their captive. He took the knife and carefully cut through Travers' bindings, freeing the man before tucking the weapon away. "Money? Power?"

The older man raised a curious eyebrow at his old employee, but remained seated while he rubbed his wrists where the rope had been placed. "What's this, Rupert? The part where I am supposed to tell you my master plan? To answer all those little questions that have been bouncing around in that head of yours as to why I would do such a thing?"

"I was just curious is all," Giles answered calmly before his fist shot out and struck Travers across the face with a satisfying thud. The force was enough to cause the chair to screech as it was pushed backwards on the floor.

Travers hung his head to the side for a moment, spat out some blood, then turned his grin back towards the man who had just hit him as he rubbed his jaw. "Good to see there is still some of the Ripper left in you, old man."

"I'd say that there was more than some left," Giles shot back before hitting him again.

Travers toppled off the chair and landed on the ground with a hard bang. Giles was over him, grabbing him by the shirt collar and twisting his body to where he was looking up at the angry man that had just hit him.

"That was for that boy's mother and what you did to her."

He lifted the old man's body by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall before he smacked him again, harder. Travers groaned from the blow, and a small trickle of blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth.

"That was for what you did to Buffy and Willow all those years ago."

Grabbing a hold of the ex-Head of Council's shoulders, Giles jerked him forward and kneed him in the stomach. He then hit him as hard as he could across the face. Giles would swear he felt something break. Letting the old man go, he watched as Travers fell to the ground once again, holding his stomach in pain.

"That was for what you did to the children."

Drawing his foot back, Giles kicked the older man in the stomach for a final blow.

"And that was for me."

Travers coughed, trying to get the copper taste out of his mouth before he rolled over onto his back. Giles looked down at the man.

He looked like a turtle that had rolled over onto its shell; helpless to the man who had just beat the crap out of him. A small part of the ex-Watcher wanted to feel sorry for the old man. A small part of him yelled that Travers wasn't worth him loosing control and letting the Ripper come out and play, thus becoming no better than the battered Englishman at his feet. But the majority of him despised his ex-boss too much to care.

Reaching into his pocket, Giles pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a small amount of blood off his hands before he tossed it to Travers.

"You are hardly worth the effort, Quentin," Giles muttered to himself as Travers spat and coughed small amounts of blood into the piece of cloth he had been given.

The old man looked up at his former colleague, then grinned a little.

"I misjudged you, Rupert. I never thought you would have it in you to beat up a defenseless old man."

"You are hardly defenseless," he bit back, his eyes blazing for a moment before settling back into their repressed rage glare.

Giles turned his back on him and headed towards the door that led to the front of the shop.

"What?" Quentin laughed as he pushed himself up to his knees. "You're going to let me go?"

Stopping at the door, the younger Watcher turned around to face his old boss once more.

"Not by any means," he said, leaning back against the wall. "It would seem, Quentin, that we are not the only people who have been looking for you. Your little trail of kill and destroy has left you with more than a few enemies. The Pushkin family. Members of the United States secret ops for what you did to Mr. and Mrs. Finn. There are even members of the Council who would like to see you pay for the crimes that they know you committed while in power. And that's just to name a few; the list could go on.

"So, while you were unconscious and tied to the chair, I asked myself 'what we should do with you?' There are so many people out there who have good reason to want you. So, I decided to do the only fair thing. I used my resources and contacted all of them, and the first one to arrive gets you."

Travers gaped at him. "You did _what_!"

They paused when the sound of the front door being slammed opened echoed throughout the shop followed by someone cursing in Russian.

Giles raised an eyebrow, then said thoughtfully, "Oh, bad luck. It sounds as if the Pushkin's had people closer than expected."

"Rupert!"

The door to the training room tore opened and the room quickly filled with large men with guns drawn and pointed at the battered man on the floor. The one that had cursed up front continued to yell in the Slavic tongue as the others surrounded their target.

Giles didn't hide the smile on his face as he watched. Travers, who had always been so careful to be the one in control, was now at the mercy of these men who looked like they were ready to kill him. Yes, that was very satisfying to see.

Pushing away from the wall, Giles turned to head back into the front show room.

"Rupert!" Travers called, his voice pleading which gave his ex-employee pause. "Don't leave me here!"

The Watcher stood there for a moment, as if considering stopping this. He drew in a deep breath, then said, "There's weapons on the south wall. Help yourselves."

"Rupert!" Quentin yelled once more with more panic in his tone, but Giles paid him no mind and let the training room door slam behind him.

"That's kinda cruel, don't you think?" Graham asked, leaning against the counter. There was a small smirk on his face, clearing showing that he was enjoying this. But, as an officer, he needed to at least pretend to disapprove.

"Not particularly, no," Giles answered, heading around the corner and for the scotch that he had earlier. "Not after what he has done."

After Lindsey had told them about Dr. Miller and Sebastian, Giles decided to do a bit of research so there wouldn't be anymore surprises. Of course, he had a great one when he realized that the boy's 'aunt' had married none other than Riley Finn after a short courtship. He hadn't told anyone, not even Buffy, that the he was now dead, but had tucked it away for possible future reference. And it had come in handy that night.

"Yeah," Graham said. "Guess Sam and Riley wouldn't have disapproved too much. Not after what happened to Bastian."

Giles frowned a bit before covering his face with the glass to hide it from the other man. He hadn't told the Commander everything. The government didn't need to know about Dylan and Bastian and what they really were. They didn't need to know about Buffy and Spike. All they needed to know was that the man who had murdered two of their top agents was being held in Sunnydale, waiting for them to come get him.

Travers was getting off far too easy, but Giles wasn't ready to step over the line that made him no better than the old Council Member. Buffy and Spike won't like it, but, no matter what they think, it was better this way. Man would have their justice in court, and, hopefully, the Powers would deal theirs later.

"God have mercy on him," Giles muttered to himself then took another drink. _Because the others certainly wouldn't have._

It was the darkest part the day; the time right before the sun would break over the horizon and bathe the land with its warm light. It would mark the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It would also mark the day when they put an end to this once and for all. As Sebastian had said, Travers wasn't going to hurt them anymore, and neither would these people once they were done.

The old charity hospital sat just outside of town, hidden away in a peaceful area. On the way there, Xander had dropped some more information concerning the place; namely that before it had been turned into a charity hospital by the state, that it had once been a privately own mental institution. That was why it had been placed out of the way, so no one of upstanding society would have to be reminded of those poor, deranged souls.

Very appropriate. A band of lunatics going after a group of crazies in a former nut house. One just had to love the hellmouth.

The Scoobies stood on a small dirt road that ran parallel to the property. The road obviously hadn't been used, except for maybe a tracker, in quite some time. They had to ditch Giles' car back at the main road, then take the whelp's truck the rest of the way.

Getting out there come sunrise was going to be a real bitch, but they'd have to worry about that later. Right now they had more important things to think about.

Sebastian picked up several of the weapons in the back of the truck and handed them over to the waiting Angel and Connor. The miracle child took the crossbow, held it up to test the line of sight, then handed it over to Faith. The dark-haired slayer smiled, repeating the process, before pulling the strap onto her shoulder. At the same time, father and son left the truck.

While the others got ready, Spike stood near the tree line that separated the property line.

"Whatch'ya see, eagle eye?" Faith asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Looks like they have a couple of guards posted out front," he said, watching the tiny figures that he knew the slayer could not make out in that light and from that distance. "Might be more out back."

"I'll take care of 'em," Oz volunteered.

Spike nodded his head in agreement, never taking his eyes off the building.

"Be careful," Angel told the werewolf, with a pat on the back.

"Don't worry. Dying will be the last thing I do," he answered dryly, then disappeared into the dark.

"Guess that means your up, junior," Faith called to the youngest of the group.

From the back end of the truck, Bastian sighed before jumping over the side. He landed silently, then took off quietly to do what he had to do.

Normally, they would have never entertained the idea of putting a child in danger, but, if there was one thing this kid had proven to them, it was the fact that he wasn't a kid at all. He was only ten, but had seen more death than a man twice his age should. And they needed him tonight, or else their little plan wasn't going to work; so it wasn't really like they had a whole lot of choice in the matter.

"Okay, is anyone else having major deja vu feeling here?" Xander asked. "I mean, we're about to go into a building full of people who want to kill us while we go and try to save Dill and the Buffest. I got to say, the last time we did something like this, it didn't end all that well."

"Just do what you're supposed to, Harris. We go in, you get Buffy out," Spike said with clipped tone. "We'll take care of the rest."

"Right," the carpenter frowned, pulling a sword from the back of his truck. He tested the weight in his hand then let the weapon drop to his side.

"Are we sure this is going to work?" Angel asked, coming to stand beside Faith.

Nodding, his grandchilde assured him, "It'll work."

With that, he took off in the same direction that Sebastian had earlier, followed by Connor and Faith.

"It did in Mortal Combat anyway," Xander shrugged, going after the others.

From behind them, they could hear Angel balk, "Mortal Combat? Wait a minute here!"


	18. Disturbing the Peace

AN: Well, it's been awhile, but I have a new chapter ready. I don't think it's one of my best, but….yeah. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think.

Oh, and everyone give a great big THANK YOU to my lovely beta Afterlife. Without whom, this chapter would not be comprehensible. :-P Thank you, hon.

Now, on with the story.

_Part 18: Disturbing the Peace_

Dylan walked down the hallway, following behind the old woman who had been assigned as her personal tour guide. The child was tired and wanted nothing more than for this whole day to be over with, but it didn't look as if that would be happening any time soon. There was still so much to do.

She would just have to remember what Grandfather had told her, about why her mission was so important. She couldn't let that child be born. She couldn't let her brother - No, not her brother, that thing – come into being. It had to die, or they were all damned.

As they neared the lobby, Dylan suddenly felt someone wrap their hands around her mouth and waist and pull her to the side. Her first instinct was to fight back and scream. She began to do both, her cries muffed behind the hand that held her mouth, as she was pulled into a dark room. Once she was inside the room, the hands immediately released her, and Dylan quickly spun on her heels ready to fight until she caught sight of who her captor was.

"Bastian?"

The young boy darted his head out in the hall to make sure that she hadn't been missed before turning back to face his friend.

"Bastian, what's going on? Where's Grandfather?"

"Listen to me, there's not much time," he told her, ignoring her questions. "We have to get out of here."

"What?" she exclaimed, causing him to wince at the volume of her voice. He glanced out of the room once more, while Dylan continued to ramble. "What are you talking about? What about the mission?"

"Screw the mission," he bit. "We've got to get out of here."

She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. What did he mean, 'screw the mission?' She couldn't do that! Not with what was on the line!

"What's the matter with you?" she asked him, trying to understand. "Grandfather would-."

"Forget him, Dill. Forget everything he ever told you. We don't have to worry about him anymore."

"What?"

"I'll explain everything, but first we have to leave. Now."

Taking her by the arm, Sebastian lead her out of the room, only to come to an abrupt stop when he saw their escape route blocked by the older woman Dylan had been following earlier.

"Going somewhere?" Emily asked, crossing her arms as she raised an eyebrow.

Dylan could see Sebastian tense, like he was readying for a fight. Reaching up, she touched his hand as a warning to play along, before turned her attention back to Emily.

"No. Bastian just got a little lost. I was trying to help him find his way."

"Funny, I was trying to do the same thing," Dylan heard him mutter under his breath, but she didn't have time to question what he meant.

Instead, she plastered on the oversize smile that she bore whenever she was sent to the principal's office, trying to play up the cute, innocent little-girl look. Emily continued to glare at the children for a bit, like they were a problem that was keeping her from where she needed to be. Then, with a sigh, the old woman turned around and headed back on her way, expecting the children to follow along.

Dylan gave Sebastian a look, telling him to come along and to let her do her job. Dropping his shoulders, he went with her.

How could he ask her to forget the mission? It was the whole reason she was here! She was supposed to protect the world, and if she left and let this happen, she would fail at that job. This was what she was born for, that was what Grandfather said. He knew what was best and only told her to do what was necessary. She might not like it, but it was always for the best.

They entered the lobby, which was already filled with members of the cult. The upper-level members stood in the front wearing hooded deep red robes. The others stood in the center and were dressed in black clothing that looked more appropriate for clubbing than demon worshiping. Really, what was it about cults and robes and black clothes?

Lit candles had been placed all over, providing most of the light for the ceremony that would begin soon. Any signs of the former hospital had been stripped from the room, making the dusty old place feel even creepier than it had before.

They had dressed Dylan in white, for some reason. The long skirt made a rustling sound every time she moved, and the thin fabric they had used for the sleeves was itchy against her skin. Not to mention that it was far too girly for her taste. In fact, it looked like something Jessie would like to wear, or an outfit her grandmother would buy that her father would make her wear just once to make Gram happy.

Emily ushered Sebastian and Dylan to the side of the room to watch the ceremony without being in the way. She was dressed in a deep red robe with a hood that she drew up to hide her face as Kenneth turned to start things.

"I give greetings to those who follow the faith."

He smiled brightly at the room, scanning across it as the cult muttered back their answer. But when his eyes came to rest on Dylan and Sebastian, for a brief second, his features faltered.

Kenneth recovered quickly though and added, "And our guests, of course."

_Okay, that was strange_.

"We have gathered here on this day to greet the creator, the one who gave of itself to create two new races. But the races have combined, and the time to return the gift is upon us."

A faint scream of pain echoed through the room, causing everyone to turn towards the opened side doors.

Diana walked in first. Well, truthfully, it was more like she glided. This was her moment, her big day, Dylan could tell by the expression on her face.

She was carrying a strange-looking dagger that, for some unknown reason, sent a chill down Dylan's spine. The item looked familiar though, like something she had seen in a dream she couldn't quiet remember anymore.

Several robed figures followed behind her, dragging Buffy with them. She could hardly walk and was in some major pain. Sweat caked her body and every few seconds she pulled them to a stop to scream once again. Still, that glint in her eyes, the one that said 'come near my baby and I'll kill you', remained.

They dragged her to the altar and placed her in the middle of a circle they had created with candles in front of the altar. Inside the circle, they had painted a symbol that Dylan had never seen before.

Dylan knew that if her mother was not in labor, she would have easily fought her way out of there; but as it were, she could do little more than clutch her stomach while the cult went about their ceremony.

When the pain let up a little, Buffy lifted her head slightly and let her eyes rest upon her first child. Dylan tried her best to squish the shame she felt for doing this, but it wasn't as if she had a choice. She had just been following orders. Someday, she hoped her parents would understand that.

Kenneth walked to the edge of the circle and stood near Diana. He took the dagger from his wife and placed it right on a small altar that stood behind the circle. He took a step back, careful not to disturbed anything around him, then turned to face the followers.

"The time is drawing near," he said. "Time for the pure to bleed."

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"I think it's time you stop sounding like some B-movie villain reject," a woman's harsh voice cut through the room.

Faith stood in the middle of the room, her face even from having long grown tired of Kenny's ramblings.

"'The time is drawing near?' Please. Who talks like that? All that's missing is that Reaper song playing in the background." She took a few sniffs of the air. "Oh, and maybe a tad bit more of incense to complete the effect. And maybe some fake smoke. That always screams crazy, satanic cult."

"Kill her!" Kenneth barked.

Several of the hooded members took off after the slayer. Faith grinned, then lifted the small crossbow that she had been holding at her side and fired at the closest cult member. His body jerked back, and he fell. It hadn't been a kill shot, but one intended to stop him. She dropped the weapon to the ground, then went into hand-to-hand with the others.

The not-so-devoted chose this moment to flee, not wanting to chance the wrath of not only an angry slayer but that of her friends as well, because, like pack animals, where there was one Scooby, there were usually more nearby. Their fears quickly turned out to be justified when the rest of the gang decided that it was time to end their little charade, and pulled back their hoods to reveal themselves.

Faith had to give it to Xander. Every once-in-awhile, he did come up with a pretty good, hairball scheme. Even if he did get it from some sci-fi movie he had seen.

They had taken the guards out and stolen their robes, allowing them complete access to the hospital. Well, that would teach these stupid people about having costumes that hide people's faces, now wouldn't it?

Balling her fist, Faith backhanded one of the cult members. She then spun around on her feet to execute a roundhouse, flinging the man into the air before he fell to the ground unconscious.

Bouncing lightly on her feet, Faith eyed the other members surrounding her. Her fists were raised and ready to strike, while a wicked grin grew on her face.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

One of them dove at her side, knocking himself and Faith to the ground, while his friends advanced on the fallen slayer. Grabbing the top of his robe, she placed her foot in the center of his chest and pushed with all of her might, causing him to fly backwards into part of the on-coming crowd. She rolled back onto her shoulders, and did a hand-spring back to her feet.

After barely gaining her balance again, Faith did a side-kick into one of the cult member's stomachs before blocking another follower's punch to her head. She easily knocked the fist away and came back at him with one of her own. The blow caused his head to jerk back, before she followed with another punch, and finally finished with a sweep-kick to knock him off his feet.

As the brunette slayer came back up, two members grabbed her from behind, holding her arms, as another made a rush directly at her with his fist raised high. He was just about to strike when a large hand seized his and stopped him midway through.

He glanced over to see Angel grinning back at him.

"Three against one. Doesn't seem fair," the vampire mused to himself.

Faith grinned at him, swaying a bit in her captor's hold. "Yeah, for them."

She kicked upward, nailing the guy Angel was holding in the chin, knocking his head back with a sickening jerk. Spinning on his feet, Angel took advantage of the distraction and attacked one of Faith's captors, hitting him in the face with the back of his fist. The man's hold on the slayer broken, Faith brought her now free arm around the front of her body, grabbed the other member who had taken her by the neck and threw him over her shoulder. He landed on the floor with a hard thud before she kicked him across the face to knock him unconscious just as Angel finished off his opponent.

The two looked up only to found themselves still surrounded. They took nearly identical fighting stances and moved back-to-back to wait for the next attack.

"You okay?" Angel asked her over his shoulder.

The grin on her face still remained as she answered, "Five by five."

"You know, someday you're going to have to explain to me what that means."

She snorted a laugh. "Only if you tell me how you get your hair to look like that without usin' a mirror."

From behind her, Faith swore she heard him growl.

"Enough with the stupid hair joke!" he yelled, before diving head-first into the fight, the slayer following close behind.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Spike pulled back the hood of his robe and glanced over at Xander just as he did the same. Faith was already in the middle of the wasp-nest, thanks to her grand entrance, and the poof had wasted no time in going to help her. From the far side of the room, Peaches Jr. launched an attack on the reinforcements that were coming in from outside. _Looks like the three had things under control there_.

"Come on," the vampire said, pushing the whelp towards the front of the room.

As the two headed for the altar where the screaming slayer lay, Kenneth made his way around the circle in an attempt to stop them. Xander clung tightly onto the sword he had brought with him, the blade barely peeking out from the side of his robe.

"Get to Buffy," Spike ordered, never taking his eyes off the rapidly approaching man before him. "I'll take care of Kenny here."

Xander nodded, handed Spike the sword, then took off to go around the cult leader. Mr. Shelton paid no mind to the young man, feeling no threat from him. Spike was his concern.

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Xander leapt over the candles that formed the circle and skid to a stop next to his friend. Buffy had curled herself up as much as she could, clutching her stomach while tears dripped down her face. Kneeling down next to her, he timidly touched her, afraid that any pressure he applied would cause her more pain.

"We have to get out of here," he said.

Tearful eyes looked up at him. God, he hated seeing her in this much pain. She was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer; she could take on anything. But here she lay, as helpless as a kitten. Xander found it unnerving that he was going to have to be the strong one here until Spike showed up.

"Can you stand?"

Swallowing hard, the slayer nodded and let her friend help her to her feet before they started looking for a safe place to go.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Spike stood still, waiting for the cult leader. The sword Xander had given him swung upward with a swoosh sound, preparing to strike at the man when he arrived.

"You can't stop this," Kenneth told him, stopping just a few feet from the vampire. "The spirit is going to enter my son's body, as it should be."

"He's not your son. He's mine. And there is no soddin' way in hell I'll let you have him," Spike growled. Then, his trademark smirk appeared on his lips before he said, "Tell you what, though. You can have this."

He tossed the sword at Kenneth, who instinctively reached to grab it. Using the distraction, Spike stepped forward and hit the man as hard as he could in the face. The leader's head popped backwards before, with a stupefied look on his face, he fell to the ground unconscious.

"Idiot wanker," the vampire muttered, before heading to meet with Buffy and Xander, who were stumbling towards him. "You alright, luv?"

"Do I look alright?" she snapped back.

A ghost of smile crossed his lips.

That's his girl.

"Right," he nodded before turning back to the carpenter. "Xander-."

"We're on our way out now."

Spike opened his mouth the say something more when he heard the floor behind him creak. Quickly, he dropped towards the ground just as the sword swung right over his head, barely missing him. The sharp edge of the weapon was just out of range of Buffy and Xander, who ducked back at bit.

As he came back up, Spike's elbow shot out and hit Kenneth in the stomach, causing the leader to groan before the back of the vampire's fist knocked him in the face. The middle-aged man stumbled backwards from the force, but he quickly recovered. He raised the sword before him and gripped the handle like he was some sort of samurai master.

"You let him have the sword!" Xander yelled at the vampire.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I knew bleach had to cause brain damage," Xander said more to himself than anyone. "And this just proves it."

Spike rolled his eyes just as Kenneth struck at him again. The vampire jerked his body back, the tip of the blade cutting into the damn robe he still wore. The fabric ripped from the slice, and Spike could feel the cool air rush through the inside of the robe.

Damn it. Harris just had to grab the sharpest sword they had, didn't he?

The swords blade came back in a lower swing, causing Spike to leap up into the air.

-----------------------------------------------------------

While Kenneth was occupied with Spike, Xander ushered Buffy towards the doors in hopes of getting her out of danger.

"No," she said, trying to pull him to a stop. "We have to go back and help."

"Buffy, if you want to help, don't fight, okay."

"But, Xander-."

Her protest died in her throat as another contraction hit her hard. They had just made it to a waiting area connected to the lobby when her legs gave out from underneath her, nearly dragging the slayer and the construction worker to the floor. Xander bit the inside of his lip while she clutched onto his shoulder, praying that she hadn't cracked the bone. The pair stumbled over to the wall, which Buffy slid down the second her back hit the hard surface.

"He's coming," she said through her labor breathing.

Xander's eyes grew wide at the statement. "What? Now?"

She glared at him.

"But-But he can't come now! I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies! Anya always had C-sections!"

"It's not like I can tell him to stop!" Buffy replied.

"Why not? You're his mother! Make him stop!"

"How!"

"I don't know." The panic was evident on his face as Xander suddenly exclaimed, "Cross your legs!"

------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike's feet had no sooner touched the ground again when Kenneth drove the blade straight towards his chest.

"Dylan!"

As the vampire leaned back as far as he could, the unexpected shout of Dylan's name caught him off-guard long enough to allow the tip of the weapon to dig deep into his shoulder, extracting a strangled cry from Spike's throat. But before the weapon could be pulled from its painful spot, Spike clasped his hands around the edge of the blade and pushed it towards Kenneth as hard as he could. The handle violently shot back and hit the middle-aged man square in the face.

The cult leader fumbled backwards in a daze from the blow, allowing Spike to jump up and kicked him in the chest, jolting Kenneth to the ground with a painful thud. The vampire lunged at him, ready to end the fight, but Kenneth struck back by swinging the sword again. The brunt side of the blade struck Spike in the side, bringing him down to the ground next to the middle-aged man. Kenneth leapt to his feet, and was standing over Spike in a second flat.

The vampire looked up at the leader, who had the side of the sword risen just a bit above Spike's neck. If he pushed down, it would have decapitated the vampire.

"I'll be sure to give _my_ son your regards," Kenneth grinned, starting to push.

A blur dove into the cult leader's side, bringing them both down. Angel rolled in the fall, coming to a crouching position when he stopped moving. Kenneth remained on his back, stunned by the surprise attack. Spike jumped to his feet, snatched the sword that had fallen to the side, and ran the man through before Kenneth even had a chance to realize what had just happened. His body spasmed for a moment, the surprise of the loss evident in his eyes, before the vampire saw the light die from them.

Though he didn't need to, Spike drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to his grandsire.

"Thanks, mate."

"Yeah, well, if anyone is going to kill you, it's going to be me," Angel shrugged as he stood upright and brushed some imaginary dust off of himself.

"In your dreams, you poof."

Faith joined the group once she had dispatched the last of her adversaries to dreamland. The slayer looked a bit worse for wear, but nothing that wouldn't be healed by morning. The brunette looked down at the body that Spike still stood over, then up at the vampire. He could see it in her eyes and her smile. He knew what she was about to say and it made him shudder.

"Oh my God! You killed Kenny!"

"I know. I'm a right bastard," Spike deadpanned, then glanced around the room for the others.

He had no more turned his head when he caught the scent of her blood. Oh, God.

Then, they all heard the Diana woman say, "An angel's blood will welcome him."

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Diana had watched the exchange with a triumphant grin on her face: Faith fighting a group of their members, Angel joining her, Connor fighting off the reinforcements by the door, and even the two younger children joining the fray in a vain attempt to try and help. She even smiled when she saw the vampire and the carpenter coming at them while her husband went out to meet them.

Yes, this was going exactly as she foresaw. This was how it was supposed to be.

She glanced at Buffy, who was still clutching her stomach from the labor pains. Soon, so soon, Diana would have her son.

The dark-haired woman turned her attention away from the slayer to the two children who were fighting off to the side. It looked rather comical, really. Two young kids fighting as if they were adults. It was even funnier that they were actually winning.

Having retrieved her weapon, Diana stepped down from the altar and walked towards the children, the dagger she had brought for this very purpose swinging at her side. Her dark eyes turned to Emily, who was cowering against the wall, trying to stay out of this.

_Emily_, Diana whispered in her mind, causing the old woman to look up at her. When their eyes meet, the follower knew what she had to do. She came forward, and took the blade from Diana.

Dylan stumbled backwards from a hit, while the boy quickly took over her fight as she tried to regain her senses. As he fought, Emily stalked up behind the girl.

"Dylan!" Connor yelled from the side.

The girl turned just as Emily swung the blade at her. She jumped back just in time for it to barely miss her. But Emily continued to mindless swing it at the child, never giving her an opportunity to counterattack, but forcing her to stay on the defensive. Finally, Dylan stepped wrong, and the blade cut down the girl's chest and to the top of her stomach.

Emily had no more finished the slice, when a small form attached itself to her back. Before the old woman even knew what had happened, her neck snapped, and she fell to the ground. Sebastian momentarily stood over her, and then turned his attention to the bleeding girl.

Dylan was on her knees, clutching her abdomen. The front of her white dress was quickly staining red from the rapid flow of blood. It was obviously to Bastian that the cut was not a shallow one. He hurried to his friend's side, just as Connor finished off the last of the cult members before joining them.

As Bastian held her, Connor ripped a long piece of cloth from his robe and pressed it against her wound, before gently pushing her to lay down flat on her back.

"Just be still, okay," Connor ordered.

Meanwhile, Diana calmly walked over to Emily and pulled the blood-soaked dagger from her dead hand. She briefly smiled at her distorted reflection in the blade, then slowly walked back to the circle. Reaching over, she let a few drops of blood drip onto the symbol Buffy had been on moments before.

"An angel's blood will welcome him," she said.

And the world trembled.

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	19. No Where to Run

AN: Disclaimer and summary found in first chapter.

Well, it certainly has been awhile since I updated this story. But I actually have a new chapter. Really. :)

Thank you to my wonderful beta, afterlife, and to those who have taken the time to review this story.

_-------------------------------------------------------------- _

_Part 19: No Where To Run_

Andrew walked back towards the small, sleepy group in the waiting room. He was carrying a small cardboard tray with several large cups of coffee, and a paper bag with the words _Crispy Cream _printed in bold letters. Joyce smiled at the young man and took the coffee offered to her as he passed the others their hot drinks.

Cash was snuggled against his mother, dead to the world around him. Anya had to maneuver carefully when she took her drink from her employee so as to not wake the boy.

He then went to the two other children, who were sitting at a small coffee table with magazines spread about the top of it. They had the cards they were playing with earlier, but put away their game as he handed them each a small carton of chocolate milk. After snagging his own donut, he then gave them the bag before going to sit down next to Joyce.

Dawn was sitting with Willow, so her cup of coffee remained in the holder untouched. Andrew placed the tray in the seat between him and Joyce, then grabbed his own orange juice and began to nibble on the donut.

The silence was deafening as they all sat there, lost in their own thoughts and worries.

"What's taking them so long?" Jessie asked, breaking the quiet. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"

"Soon, baby," Anya assured her daughter.

"But…" The child leaned forward and whispered as if it were some big secret, "The sun's already up."

"Jessie-."

Van jumped to his feet, his back straight and his jaw clinched.

"Van?" Joyce said softly.

"What do you hear?" Andrew asked. He had seen that look before and knew it meant the boy could hear or sense something they couldn't, thanks to his wolf.

He turned to look at the adults, confusion etched on his face. "There's a rumbling."

No sooner had he said the words when the earth began to jerk violently beneath their feet.

Giles was slammed against the counter with a painful oomph when the earthquake began. His head banged against the plywood, cutting a small gash on his forehead as he clung onto the fixture in an attempt to keep from falling. Items fell off of the shelves around him, the bindings of the books breaking and the glass jars shattering upon impact.

Graham stumbled backwards and fell hard on his butt from the sudden jolts forwards and backwards. The commando fought to his feet, then ran nearly sideways across the room to the counter. He helped Giles over to the doorway that lead to the storage area and the two men braced themselves.

The very foundation of the building began to groan in protest from the movement, before a large crack began to spread across the showroom floor and race towards the training area in the back. The crack caused the heavy loft to come crashing down, destroying the small play area for the children that Anya had set up underneath it.

The caving in of the loft caused a chain reaction. The extra weight caused most of the floor to give way and fall into the basement below. That in turn took out the support wall that the loft was built into, causing the back end of the shop with the training room to collapse in on itself.

Giles and Graham listened while some of his men yelped in surprise as the walls fell in on them, then heard that sickening cracking sound as the earth beneath them split opened and dragged them down below. Travers's cries were the loudest.

Hell had opened up wide to greet him.

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The force of the first jolt dropped Faith onto her butt. Though the Boston native had lived in the southern part of California for a good seven years before moving out, she had never gotten used to the sudden earthquakes that would occasionally arise. Not that this one was in any way a sudden or a natural earthquake, especially considering the show that was going on before them.

Faith's eyes widened as one of the concrete pillars that held up part of the second floor cracked in two and brought down part of the ceiling. Rolling to the side, she barely missed being crushed by some of the falling debris.

Diana took a step back from the circle, a wild smile on her face. The symbol on which she had dripped Dylan's blood began to glow. A crack formed and ran along its lines, drawing the symbol into the very foundation. Once it was complete, the earthquake stopped.

Angel helped the slayer to her feet quickly, then flanked to her side. Spike was on her other side, glancing from Diana to where the children were. Faith could see that the vampire wanted to go over and help Dylan, but he didn't because he knew something was coming. As Buffy would say, her spidey senses were tingling; only now they actually felt like a thousand tiny knives stabbing her over and over again. It was as if her whole body had been asleep and was only now just waking, much different from the usual sense she got when danger was approaching.

Angel and Spike had similar looks on their faces. So did Connor. And Bastian. And, if she wasn't reeling in pain, Faith was sure Pickle would have one too.

"You guys feel that?" she asked, shifting on her feet into a fight stance.

The vamps nodded together, also readying themselves for what was about to come.

"That's not a good thing, is it?"

They shook their heads no this time. It would have been comical to watch, if it wasn't such a bad thing that was causing it.

"Suggestions?"

A black mist began to seep from the symbol like London fog through an opened window. The feeling of danger that accompanied it was almost overwhelming.

Next to her, Faith could literally feel Spike and Angel bristle.

Clutching his fist, the former bleached-blond answered, "Yeah. Don't die."

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Buffy threw her head back and let out a painful scream. It wouldn't be long; she could feel the baby was almost there.

"Breathe, Buffy, breathe," Xander coached from beside her, not daring to venture any further in front of her. He was still doing his best to keep this from happening now, and was now showing her some of the Lamaze methods he had learned for Anya but had never really gotten to use.

"Like this." The carpenter drew in a deep breath, let out three high-pitched short breaths, followed by three lower-pitched short breaths before repeating the process. "See. Now, just concentrate on breathing, _not_ pushing."

"Xander," the slayer said calmly, making him think he was safe. He leaned in a little closer to her to hear what she had to say when her hand wrapped tightly around the collar of his shirt and jerked him violently towards her face. "Concentrate on your own damn breathing!"

Her friend's eyes were wide, but she could hardly pay him attention as another contraction began as soon as the other ended, telling her once again to push.

"Look," she grunted.

"What?"

"Look and see if you can see the head," she ordered.

"What! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! That's None-Xander-Lookie Area! Off-limits! Do not proceed! Stay the hell away under the threat of a painful death area!"

"Xander!"

"Anya would kill me! Spike would kill me! They'd kill me together, bring me back to life, then kill me again!"

"Xander, just look!"

Her friend made one more desperate look at her as his last ditch effort to not have to do this, then made his way in front of her. Okay, he'd seen the videos, he knew what to expect. He'd just take a quick peek – not even a peek really, more like a glance – and then pretend that it never-

"Oh, God."

"What? What, 'Oh, God'? 'Oh, God,' is not what I want to hear right now, Xander!"

Dazed, the carpenter looked up and said, "There's a head."

---------------------------------------------------

Diana took a step back and looked up at the black mist that was rising above her head. Her mad grin was like that of a child on Christmas morning. This was it for her.

Spike tightened his fist and drew in an unneeded breath. This thing, whatever it was, had no form, not yet anyway. How the hell were they supposed to fight something that was little more than smoke?

Connor joined the group, having left Bastian with Dylan. The scent of her blood covered the young man, and it was taking everything that Spike had to keep from attacking him for having it on him. He knew it wasn't Little Peaches's fault, but his demon didn't seem to understand that. All it knew was that its offspring was injured, and this person next to him was covered in her blood. But he would just have to channel that anger towards the task before them – stopping this thing from getting his son.

Diana raised her arms towards the form rising above her. "Welcome home."

A portion of the mist turned to her, and, for all intents and purposes, stared at the woman below. It was a strange sight, since the thing had no real head to turn towards her, but it was looking at her.

Then, the mist started to spread around the woman who had summoned it. It moved around her, never once actually touching her, but passing over nearly ever inch of her body. When she raised her hand to watch the smoke curl around it, it moved with her, allowing no contact whatsoever.

"What's it doing?" Faith asked.

"Inspecting her?" Connor offered.

"For what?"

"To be its mother?" the miracle child answered.

A mass of the fog gathered behind Diana, and a smaller portion rose in front of her face. She was still smiling brightly.

"Not to be its mum," Spike said, transfixed by the sight as much as the others. "But to be its…"

"Dinner," Angel finished.

No sooner had the words left his grandsire's mouth, the thing attacked. The mass that had gathered behind her shot forward into her back, causing the woman to erupt into a painful scream that would chill the dead. As her mouth hung opened to let the sound out, the mist that had been in front of her moved into her body through the open passage. Her scream turned into a gagging sound as the mist disappeared inside her.

When it was completely gone, the woman stumbled backwards and staggered away from the altar. She came towards the group, her steps jagged and twisting to strange angles, like someone who had no control over what their body was doing. She wasn't screaming any longer, but her eyes were wide with surprise, pain, but mostly fear.

In a last effort for help, she reached out towards them, as if pleading for one of them to take pity on her and do something. But even if they had wanted to, they didn't know how. After a few more seconds, her body slumped forward to its knees, then fell face-forward onto the floor. Her arm was still stretched out towards them.

While the body lay there, what almost looked like her shadow rose up from inside her. The dark outlined mass slowly stood up, looked down at the woman who it resembled, then up to the group before it. The thing turned to each of them, then disconnected itself from Diana and turned back into the smoky glob it had been before.

"You know, that would have been pretty cool if it wasn't about to do that to us," Faith said, tightening her fist. All the good that would do. They couldn't really hit something that didn't have a body and apparently could pass right through a person to eat their soul.

This was bad. Very bad.

And a baby's cry told them it just got worse.

----------------------------------------------------

Xander was grateful for many things in his life. His wife. His children. His best friends and their inability to stay dead.

But right now he was most grateful for the fact that, once he saw the child's head, his brain had switched over to automatic pilot and made everything he was doing seem like he was watching someone else do it on TV. Now all those years of watching Rescue 911 when he was younger and having to sit through those disturbing birthing videos that Anya had made him watch actually seemed like a good thing.

The carpenter had pulled off his robe, and now had the infant placed on top of it. Buffy was panting, worn out from the experience. Xander offered her a smile that she didn't notice, then turned back to the relatively quiet baby. The child had cried a bit right after he had freed it, but nothing like he had expected. Compared to his own children, it had been nothing.

Reaching into his jeans pockets, he pulled out a Swiss army knife that 'Jessie' had given him for Christmas. "Sorry, kid," he said before separating the mother and child.

This time, the child screamed bloody murder, but Xander ignored it. He quickly cleaned the babe the best he could, then picked the child up.

"Xander," Buffy said, holding her arms out.

"Hey, time to see your mom. She's pretty cool. You'll like-."

Four painful cries from the lobby cut him off and caused him to instinctively pull the child closer to him. He turned his head to the end of the wall that separated the waiting area from the main room. The screams were still echoing when black mist seeped around the wall and hung in the air before them. Xander gripped the child, who was still wailing, tightly to him, as the carpenter just stared at the thing a few feet away.

Buffy was making some kind of whimpering sound, like she was trying to help, but was unable to do so. She grabbed at Xander, but he was having a deer-caught-in-the-headlights moment, and found it impossible to move. The slayer caught his shirt and pulled herself around him and the baby like she was trying to protect them both.

"Xander!" she screamed in a faraway voice.

He blinked. Xander felt a heavy hand slap onto his shoulder and pull, dragging both him and the slayer that clung to him to their feet. The carpenter stumbled as he tried to keep his balance, which was thrown off by the shock that still held him as well as the weight of Buffy pulling down on him. In his arms, the baby continued to cry.

"You alright?" Oz asked over his shoulder, now standing between the three and the still stalking mist.

"Been better," Buffy answered, breathing hard from the pain.

She let go of Xander like she was going to try and fight, but she ended up nearly crumpling to the floor the second her hands left her old friend. Oz caught her on the way down, and held her tiny body next to his.

Unconsciously, the group began to back away from the black cloud slowly like it was a rabid dog about to attack.

"What do we do?" Xander asked, looking for the quickest way to get out of there. There had to be some way. After all, Oz just didn't appear out of nowhere. Least, he didn't think he did.

As if reading his thoughts, the werewolf offered, "Run?"

"Sounds good to me," the blonde at his side muttered a second before Oz scooped her up and the group made a frantic dash for the front entrance.


End file.
